


A Legacy for Two

by ninaalegre



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Accidental Sheltering, Adult Andreil Protecting a Child, All Facts of Foxes' Future/Canon Future Belong to Author Nora Sakavic, And It's Kind of Complicated, Foxes in Their Mid/Late 20s to Early 30s, Foxes with Cubs, Just Fantasising, M/M, Parenting Foxy Style, Same Old Andreil Attitudes, Some Lifestyle of the Rugged and Famous, Some R-18 Scenes, Their Peeps React, Twisting Their Post-University Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 77,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8677867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaalegre/pseuds/ninaalegre
Summary: Can never quite expect the unexpected...Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten have made it. They survived college. They have stayed on court. They have conquered Exy. The two are pretty much doing well in life years after university. However, the fickle universe has something else stored for their future, even though the couple are not fond of unnecessary attention and big surprises; especially so if the surprise may feel too big for both of them and their myriad of memories. Nevertheless, they must continue moving forward, follow the one-way track, and persist; hence, Andrew ends up cutting a deal...with a baby?oooooooo"It's a baby," he said.Andrew nodded solemnly."Yes, Neil." Andrew met Neil's eyes as bland sarcasm escaped from his lips. "An infant."oooooooo***Imagined future fic: What if a baby ended up in Andrew and Neil's hands?***Everything remains quite the signature Foxy style.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Just dreaming of adult Andrew and Neil dealing with a kid...and how baffling and weird and awkward and hectic--yet unexpectedly encouraging--that goes for them.  
> Peace and Cheers to all! ;)  
> P.S. Some technicalities can be loose in this fic.
> 
> Andreil Playlist:
> 
> Falling || Haim  
> Running || Jessie Ware  
> Heavy In Your Arms || Florence + the Machine  
> Wolves Without Teeth || Of Monsters and Men  
> Soul Meets Body || Death Cab For Cutie  
> Devotion || Ellie Goulding  
> Strange Love || Halsey  
> Be Alright || Ariana Grande  
> I Know You Care || Ellie Goulding  
> Aquaman || Walk The Moon

Andrew and Neil had been through a lot. And to both of them, _a lot_ could mean any shade from their colorful pasts. Sometimes mornings of waking up and lying silently beside each other on a warm bed under the growing pour of sunshine still felt like a dream come true. Sometimes the present days were like a string of miracle, especially after the occasional nightmares or during the strain of challenges pounding on their backs over the years. One thing remained certain, however--a constant relief that sparked a never-ending fire in their shared lives: they had made it through; so whatever came their way in the future, they would make it more, again and again and again, with each other.

But as fate would have it, a twist like this particular Saturday in late May was a baffling surprise neither could have possibly fathomed to take place. It was a day when it seemed their accumulated experience, of the good and the bad and the in-between, was swallowed by a higher, larger wave they had never thought of bracing themselves for. It was an uncertainty amid their plans, with their careers carrying on like rolling wheels of fast cars on slick clouds. It was a sudden hole in their paved routine. And just like that, Andrew and Neil had been jerked to a bump they hadn't quite recovered from yet. Even Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins were steering clear at the moment.

Brows furrowed and lips quirked into a faint moue, Neil hadn't spoken a word since the last hour. Andrew was just as quiet, with a significantly blank face on set jaws that Neil hadn't seen in a long time. Both of them were leaning back in their seats, arms to their sides, hands on their laps, practically wary to touch anything past their chairs. A free morning that should have been spent on the road was now dedicated to sitting across each other in the dining room, their eyes gravitated to the table separating the two men. To be precise, their eyes were fixed on the unbidden surprise making little noises and shallow movements between them.

At half past nine, Neil had had enough. His shoulders were already aching beyond the effect of a rough game on Thursday night. As it was, his nostrils were already itching to inhale a smoke of cigarette. He pulled his gaze up to examine Andrew's expression.

"It's a baby," he said.

Andrew nodded solemnly.

"Yes, Neil." He met Neil's eyes as bland sarcasm escaped from his lips. "An infant."

Neil huffed. "Right. Like Kevin's child once was and the others' a few years back."

"Not really like theirs. This one looks smart."

"Smart," the striker repeated perplexedly.

Andrew shrugged lightly. "Hasn't cried yet."

"Yeah, imagine that."

They stared at each other for a minute, willing one of them for further unhelpful remarks. In the end, they didn't have to. The baby who had been awake for forty minutes now had let out a long undeterminable sound that seized their attention at once. Neil had only speculated that he was a boy since he was swathed in blue in his padded basket, just like when Allison had given birth to her son. Even his bonnet was in blue polka dots. Neil's stomach churned as he watched the baby grasping air with his tiny hands. The baby had turned his head to the side and looked up at Neil intently with his big, pale-blue eyes.

"He's talking to you," Andrew said breezily.

Neil rubbed his face languidly. "Perfect. All those languages and nothing to understand him."

Aside from his incidental meetings with Amalia in the past four years, his limited interactions with children included touching Matt's firstborn and seeing Allison's and Renee's. In all those instances, the parents were there to take over when he couldn't handle said infants anymore. With him and Andrew the only ones around in their apartment, babysitting would downright be a lost cause.

Who could blame them, though? Andrew and Neil had been trained and hardened by experience for the brutality of court and life, but they had never been prepared to care for a vulnerable human being who couldn't utter a single word to save his life. This morning was as foreign to them as an outlandish world in a fantasy movie setting. In fact, it felt like a crazy dream.

At eight o'clock, Andrew had gone down the parking lot to put their luggage to the trunk while Neil swept their room for last minute checks before locking the place up. About five minutes later, Neil found Andrew standing by the SUV with the back door open, his head lowered, and his back on Neil with their overnight bags still sitting by his feet. He wondered what it was on the floor of the backseat that Andrew was searching for till he joined him on his side and saw what had caught the goalkeeper's focus. There was a sleeping bundle awaiting them in the middle of the backseat, beside a dubiously fluffy backpack.

Neil had seen and heard stories from media about babies being deserted on the streets or on doorsteps of churches and orphanages. But he had never thought that in direct reality, children could also be abandoned inside random cars of apartment buildings. Evidently, Andrew's SUV had been broken into. The windows were half-rolled down. Small scratches were visible along the door handle. Beyond these, nothing much appeared amiss. There was no real change or damage that Neil could see.

Neither of them could tell when exactly the intrusion could have happened, but it couldn't have been that long. Otherwise, the baby would have frozen during the cold hours if left on his own all evening. Not to mention it would have cried out and a resident or patrol guard would have noticed at some point. The couple would have yet to check with the security office if there was a recorded CCTV footage around the SUV.

Minutes trickled by in disbelief before Andrew bent to reach inside and lift the baby basket. There was a thick letter tucked inside the baby's layered clothes, which the goalkeeper picked up as he pushed the baby toward a slack-jawed Neil. He read the content with sharp and narrowed eyes. Afterward, he had told Neil to take the baby inside their unit. His expression was rigid yet very much unreadable as he kept standing unusually still, his hazel eyes slowly roaming over the SUV.

The possible backwash was not lost on Neil, what with the goalkeeper's history of separation from Tilda and his twin. It was apparent that this incident was instantly lashing at Andrew's bleak memories like an unwelcome whip. All of a sudden, Andrew felt miles away from his side. Neil wanted to say something reassuring, something grounding to yank him from that consuming void, the impenetrable space that had Andrew looking exceptionally vacant whenever he was wrapped in it. All Neil managed was a soft " _Andrew_ " which seemed more than enough as the goalkeeper directed him a conscious and meaningful glance. Whatever abrupt tension had possessed Andrew earlier had been subdued in seconds, and he was more his usual self.

"We can't go," he had said.

Neil nodded, turned away, and went for the elevator with unsure footsteps. The baby in the basket had weighed more than it should in his right hand. Although riding the elevator up to the tenth floor was a hazard-free task, he gripped the handle as though the basket might fall from his grasp and any second he'd hear the baby screaming his lungs out. Never had he been too mindfully careful with another small life close by. He was greatly relieved to finally leave the basket on the table, where he and Andrew were now situated, having wasted more than an hour in uneasy silence.

"What's in the backpack?" Neil asked.

"Baby stuff."

"And in the letter?"

Placidly, Andrew fished the letter from the front pocket of his black shirt and handed it to Neil. The latter expected a convoluted message because of the several folds it took to get to the writing; however, what was written in neat and beautiful script was only a set of few lines:

_His hair reminded me of his father. And then I thought of you. Maybe you both have something in common. I'm sorry. His redemption is out of my hands anymore. So goodbye to you._

 

Neil read it over again. And again and again. He checked the other side of the letter for a name, but there was nothing else written, even at the edges. Not a date, not a symbol, not a hint as to who could have sent it. But trying to figure that out might be unnecessary if Andrew already knew why he was the recipient.

"You know his family," Neil concluded, unexpecting an automatic response. The baby was now stretching his pudgy legs against the thick padding of the basket. He was quite active and big, far from looking freshly birthed, weighing probably between fourteen to seventeen pounds. Neil sniffed lightly in case he'd smell something other than talcum powder in the air.

Andrew's heavy stare fell on the baby. Drool had spread from the boy's mouth to his cheeks and chin. Having turned away from Neil, his bonnet had slid off a bit, revealing feathery tails of light blond hair. It was convenient to assume that the boy was a relative, but Aaron and Nicky had been the only blood relations of Andrew's that the striker knew. The striker could twirl up his imagination some more about this, which he'd already been doing since he'd returned with the baby to their apartment. His mind had already been wandering to unlikely places before reading the letter.

At first, he thought there had been a mistake, that somebody had broken into the wrong car. Or perhaps the child’s parent was homeless, needed a place to spend the night in and would come back. Or maybe, of all the cars in the building, the person responsible had chosen Andrew’s on a whim. On the other hand, it might have been a deliberate decision to leave the baby for several possible reasons. For a minute Neil could picture a scandal involving a woman who'd be claiming either of them as the father of her child. The media would absolutely be having a field day with that kind of story. Exy audience from all over the country would swarm their team with inappropriate attention during games. _Goodness_ , just imagining it made Neil's head ache.

And then he shortly pondered if the baby was in some way related to Andrew. But dismissing the baby as Aaron's love child from an illicit affair sounded every bit a stupid and implausible idea. It just didn’t add up. As far as Neil and the Foxes knew, Aaron was devoted to Katelyn and wouldn't blink an eye for other women. The Moriyamas had also crossed Neil's mind. What kind of message was it to send a child that must be about four or so months old to Neil, though? They're getting their eighty percent from him just fine, and Neil had no problem with their mandate from the start.

The ridiculous ideas were wiped off his mind after reading the letter, but the striker wasn't, at all, enlightened.

"There's only one person who fits the story," Andrew said. He stretched out his right hand and hovered it above the basket. The baby's eyes obediently tracked the movement and gazed up at Andrew's palm. "His mother."

Nerve pulsing in his skull, Neil bit back a sarcastic retort to that. "How do you know her?"

"I don't. I just met her."

"When?"

"Nine months ago. At _that_ salon."

Rummaging his memory, Neil's eyes strayed to the granite island of their kitchen, where Sir Fat Cat had just taken camp. Usually, they wouldn't have to go out for fancy haircuts, but after they won their game against Matt's team in the previous season, Allison mailed Andrew and Neil two gift cards to Felix, a high-end salon that had opened a branch in their town about three years ago. The owner happened to be one of Allison's countless acquaintances in the fashion business. Last year, Andrew did visit Felix twice to use up his card since Allison hounded them for months through a barrage of e-mails and texts into going. Neil only remembered he'd last walked in there around the time of his TV interview with Matt at an evening talk show in New York.

"Who among them?" asked Neil, trying to recall the faces of the female hairdressers. The staff were professional, comfortably polite, and readily unobtrusive when it came to their clients. He spared them minimum attention, didn't register a single name but knew their faces, as he sat down each time for less than an hour in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror lined by too-bright lightbulbs. It seemed Allison had also talked the staff into giving them the best treatment possible whenever the two swung by, because they didn't stop with the plain trimming the athletes requested. They offered head and shoulder massages, which Andrew and Neil graciously refused, and there was always something else applied and sprayed on their hair for a so-called _magic touch._

Eyes focused, Andrew dipped his hand down the basket and allowed an index finger within the baby's reach. As if the finger were a hanging toy in a crib, the baby squealed in joy and wrapped a hand around it. Neil didn't know what to make of this activity. He only knew Andrew had given the child his permission to be touched.

"She said her name was 'Agatha.' Tall. Brunette. Freckles on the face. A mole on the nose." Andrew gazed at Neil. The clue of familiarity on Neil's face was absent, so he just continued as though Agatha was a girl from the news and had nothing serious to do with their situation. "She's a pregnant staff who rushed in late with a bruised face and bandaged arms." Andrew's voice was calm to the point of disinterest. When Neil studied his face, though, there was a slight wrinkle on the gap between his eyebrows. Needless to comment aloud on it, the baby was as unforeseen to him as it was to Neil. "Agatha bumped into a client's chair. He was angry that his hot coffee accidentally spilled to his white shirt."

Somehow Neil could visualize the ruckus, and Andrew's possible involvement. "You defended her," he said.

"No. The old man was a fucking noisy bastard. He was distracting my haircutter. Her fingers touched my scalp when he yelled." Repercussions were indeed bound to happen.

"So, how?" Neil didn't have to elaborate which _how_ he meant. After all, there was no need for Andrew to explain how he had shut up the other client. A good punch or shove followed by a real threat had likely done the wonders.

"The next time I was there, Agatha thanked me and suddenly decided all by herself to shoot off irrelevant things as she worked on my haircut. She also followed me outside the door for a repeat-thank you session."

"So, she simply talked about the baby to you?"

Andrew hummed briefly in vague confirmation. Their conversation over a simple haircut was probably more of a one-sided rambling where one party had no choice but to hear what the other said.

Andrew was now tugging his finger from the tiny hand around it, making the baby raise his arm higher and roll to his side a little. Coming from other people, Neil would consider such gesture a tease, a semblance of playing with the kid. From Andrew, with his clinical expression tinged with objectivity, it appeared like a test, a prompt experiment on child reflexes.

Without taking his hand away from the basket, he continued to divulge to Neil his contact with the baby's presumed mother. It looked like Agatha was a victim of abuse from her live-in lover and his people, even though she hadn't blatantly admitted to it. The moment the angry client harped on her aggressively, she had almost been pushed off her feet, which would've been fatal to her pregnancy. Agatha was an emotional mess afterward. Andrew's unfinished haircut had been ignored by her colleagues to comfort her instead. She had been grateful for Andrew's interference since then and talked to him in a tone that was meant for old friends. As Neil listened on to the rest of the story, he suspected the child's paternity with her lover was questionable.

"Is it completely possible that this baby here is not hers at all, and there's a different scenario for him?"

"It is possible," said Andrew, intense eyes darting up at Neil. A shiver crawled up Neil's spine. "If only she wasn't quite what you used to be."

The striker blinked. For a second he was breathing harsh smoke and salty waves again. His stomach roiled at the jolt of a painful yet distant memory. He swallowed the hard lump that had sprung in his throat. "A runaway." And a liar, though it was unnecessary for Neil to add what was given.

"That Agatha was hiding in an unassuming crowd, too. With fake smiles and empty laughter. You'd have likely noticed it yourself if you had caught her during one of your visits."

People with backgrounds similar to theirs were akin to scattered wolves in a forest. A breath in the air, a thin waft, or any inkling from an observant and unbiased mind was all it'd take to sense your kind from a distance. Which was why Neil had reacted cautiously against Renee during his freshman year with the Foxes. Experience left vestiges, which manifested in the smallest of things--furtive glances, fidgety fingers, tapping shoes, sweat down the temple, deceptive calmness, smooth talk, easy smiles. If Andrew could tell one from the other, then it could be the same vice-versa.

Was that why Agatha became interested in a stranger like Andrew? Had she been in so much danger that she was willing to look him up and resort to him in case a chance presented itself? Was her child in immense risk that she ended up daring fate and leaving him to somebody else's supposedly capable hands? Neil reread the letter, finding grave sense in the words now.

He asked the question that had been whirling in his head for a while. "Do you think she's dead?"

Frowning, Andrew removed his hand from the basket and watched the child pout and grow restless with the disappearance of his entertainment. Neil suspected Andrew was testing if he'd cry with enough provocation.

"Maybe, maybe not. This child's alive. Agatha said in passing that her child's birth could be her death. I had half a mind to assume she was critical in her term or just sick."

Neil was still skeptical over this, sure that Andrew also was. Agatha suggested that much to a person she had only encountered a couple of times. Either she latched onto the most convenient person she had found in a short amount of time or she'd indulged an expeditious evaluation because of dire need. Andrew could see the hesitation warring on Neil. The corner of his mouth curled as he called the striker out on it.

"You feel the need to investigate."

"I want to ascertain the entire stuff for future judgment," said Neil, eyeing the baby the way he would an Exy team in the Court whose name and stats he hadn't heard of before a crucial game. "What makes you certain?"

He threw the question not out of incredulity or because of malice or lack of trust, only to find out what else Agatha had let on to Andrew so he could link the child to her. Andrew understood the intent. He just shrugged as the baby's noises began to warp into displeasure. Andrew stared at the round pink face and loosely crossed his arms over his chest.

"Thrice," he said. "Agatha said my hair reminded her of the baby's father."

So _that_ was the brilliant hint. Probably the two times were during Andrew's visits at Felix, and the third was on the paper in Neil's hand. The striker sighed mentally, folded the letter back, and set it on the table. His ears were tingling at the blooming sobs coming from the baby. Andrew remained unperturbed by the show of tantrum. King Fluffkins decided to hoist himself up on the edge of the table and inspected the basket without getting close. At least, the cat had his paws to himself and didn't have that eager look whenever he was royally expecting his food when the couple were around.

"What do we do now?"

It was not the time to question if either of them was okay with this, if keeping the baby in their apartment was the safest option for all parties, if they should be doing the contrary. Common sense would have another person immediately calling the authorities for assistance. But with Andrew and Neil, medical centers, child services, and the police were out of the question.

Andrew arched an eyebrow.

"Nicky's arriving on Monday," he said, like Nicky was the world's most obvious solution to this.

As a collective reward from a winning streak in the past quarter, Andrew and Neil's team was off practice until Tuesday. Nicky was visiting his cousins for the summer holidays from Germany, followed by his husband Erik after five days. On an early Monday morning, Katelyn was to fetch her cousin-in-law from the airport in South Carolina so he could meet with her and Aaron first. The rest of Nicky and Erik's June and July would be a hopping trip around the country to see the rest of the Foxes and their families.

Recently, Allison and Dan had also been co-organizing a Foxes' reunion for July, though the exact dates couldn't still be fixed. It was just difficult to get around a common free time with everyone's schedules these days. Sometimes Neil missed their college years when a trip during the school break or a team breakfast could be planned in a matter of minutes.

"Nicky is staying with Aaron and Katelyn next week," Neil pointed out to Andrew.

"I'll call him."

Neil rolled his eyes. "You want him to come here first instead to babysit?"

"You want Coach to carry the baby around the Court? Tell the press we have a baby?"

"Damn funny," Neil snapped, his words nearly drowned out. The baby was one level away from his total wailing stage.

Unimpressed, Andrew stood up, and in fluid motions, went around the table, took the fluffy backpack from the floor, and thrust it to Neil's chest. "Don't let an infant beat you today, Champion."

"Where are you going?" Neil got up quickly as Andrew headed for the door.

"Store. We need supplies. There's only a couple diapers there."

"Seriously?" Neil peeked inside. He had no clue what to do with even a single diaper or a bottle of milk, other than to probably shake the latter.

"Be useful while I'm away," Andrew said before he shut the door.

As if on cue, Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins started a rare chorus of extensive meowing while the baby went on official wailing mode on the table. "Great," Neil mumbled flatly. Feeling utterly tricked, he inhaled deeply with shaky fingers rubbing over his face. He closed his eyes then peered at the basket through the gaps.

"What are we going to call you?"


	2. Chapter Two

In twenty minutes since Andrew had left for the store, Neil managed to feed the baby two-thirds of his milk bottle. _Thank goodness_ , there was already a prepared one in the backpack, and all Neil had to do was just remove the plastic cap and press the tip of the bottle's nipple to the baby's mouth. He sucked on it readily, so it turned out hunger had been the major reason from the bout of crying and not the withdrawal of Andrew's finger from his tiny hand.

The calm that followed the wailing storm in the apartment while the baby ate was such a stark difference, which Neil appreciated from head to toe. Still, his agitation had not abated much. He had counted up to fifty in both German and Spanish before his shoulders and chest began to loosen up.

With the issue at hand taken care of, Neil thought he could go about unpacking their bags. Unfortunately, the baby whined when the striker let go of the feeding bottle. He realized the baby's arms were still not strong enough to handle the bottle steadily on his own. Since the bonnet kept on sliding off the baby's head from the frequent movement, Neil tried propping the bottle to the side using the balled bonnet as a cushion.

The acute angle should allow the baby to still drink from the bottle, but the baby did not like this strategy. _Not at all_. And he made his disagreement very much known. Neil swore he'd get an earworm at night from the baby's screams. He waited until the baby was done drinking his milk. It was several minutes later before Neil could leave the dining room without worries, and even then it bugged his senses anew to know a baby was on the other room where their cats also had unsupervised access.

To address the next issue, Neil brought the baby basket with him to the master bedroom where he did the unpacking and changed into a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The baby atop their bed was looking up at him again with those eyes that were so bright and round. His broad forehead and small nose were dusted with light freckles, his cheeks pink, lips a bit red and constantly wet with saliva.

"Baby," Neil said woodenly. After a long moment had passed, the baby replied to him in his own unintelligible language. Neil nodded slowly to himself. "Guess we'll call you Baby."

Since Andrew was already taking more than an hour to get said baby supplies and Neil had been tired of watching palm and arm reflexes while juggling questions in his head, he decided to bring the basket to their desk and power on his laptop. Basically, babies were supposed to be troublesome at any point. And after that glimpse of temper earlier, Neil was under no delusion that this weekend with him would be over in a breeze. So he did what any mature man like him would do: he hit the Internet to teach himself what he could actually _and possibly_ do.

It was peculiar how nervous he was during his initial searches. He could not even come up with a proper phrase nor question. All that turned up in his head was _baby, baby, baby_. In his life, he had never predicted a day like this would come to him. Neil guessed this was just as true for Andrew, considering how late he was for lunch when he had returned, thickly reeking of cigarette smoke and looking blank yet strained. Neil already knew the drive had another purpose anyway. Andrew must have gone back to Felix to check Agatha's trail. He'd probably also contacted Bee for a much needed lengthy conversation.

Andrew and Neil ate Japanese take-out for lunch and coffee gelato for dessert in front of the TV in the living room. There was a rerun of collegiate Exy matches, and they caught the one between the USC Trojans and Penn State. Neil noted the players with pro potentials. Many of the competitive ones were women. During the second half, Sir Fat Cat had claimed his throne on Andrew's lap as the goalkeeper watched and lounged with his beer on the sofa. Neil was on the floor with his legs crossed. King Fluffkins slept to his left and the baby tucked in his basket to his right.

It was around three p.m. when Baby began crying again upon waking up, startling Neil. This time, it seemed Baby's post-sleep tantrum wasn't only because he wanted his bottle. Baby had finished the rest of his food and consumed half of a new one that Andrew had mixed, but he still couldn't be pacified.

"Could it be the diaper?" Neil asked as he lowered the basket handle to fit the curved side.

"Only one way to find out," said Andrew as he dragged the backpack down the floor and unearthed packs of baby wipes and a diaper.

"Okay," Neil said, moving back.

"Neil," Andrew warned.

"I fed him."

"I bought him stuff."

"I haven't gotten my cigarette break yet."

"We're not having any until this is fixed."

Neil asked, "Why can't babies be like kittens?"

The goalkeeper snorted. "Life's never been that simple, dumbass."

Since neither men would budge, they decided to do it together. Neil warily took the baby from the basket and laid him carefully on the soft carpet floor. And so, for the first time ever, the couple were engaged in an epic diaper change that had been a clumsy and stinky mess while they were crouching over Baby. Andrew and Neil learned that Baby was indeed a boy, and that he could kick and try to roll on his tummy and scream at the same time. Throughout the nappy change, Baby had never stopped crying even after he was considerably cleaned up. The game on the TV became a background noise to the central uproar he was creating.

Neil exhaled through his mouth a couple of times. "Baby," he said imperiously. "Stop."

Naturally, the baby just ignored him. Andrew looked at Neil with eyes that said the striker was the biggest dummy he'd ever seen in his life.

"He's not really that smart yet, after all," Neil commented wryly. "Do something."

"Something."

"Amuse him. Make faces."

Andrew glared at Neil for a minute who shot back a waspish look.

"Why don't we just show him Nicky's and Allison's pictures, then?" Neil said.

It took seconds before the goalkeeper responded. "Hm. Might not be a bad idea."

But it was a bad idea. Baby only got louder and louder when Neil opened his fourth binder to show the goofy pictures he and Andrew had received from many holidays past. For a moment, the striker worried there would soon be furious neighbors beating at their door although the apartment walls were layered and they were the exclusive residents on the tenth floor.

"All right. Now I don't want to find out how he'll react to Nicky in person," said Neil while rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you already talk to him?"

"Yes," Andrew said, his face a study of concentration the entire time. He was observing the crying baby like he would a complex mathematical problem; that, maybe, if he remembered and used the right formula, he'd be able to solve him. "His excitement is through the roof. He's changed his local flight already. By now, he'd have already notified Aaron about the switch of plans."

Neil's brows creased at that. He gestured toward the baby. "Nicky hasn't been informed yet."

"He'll ask a lot of questions on the phone."

"Yeah," Neil deadpanned. "What a predicament we have."

He sat on the couch beside the TV and upended the backpack on his lap, hoping a toy was hidden in there somewhere. A bunch of blue clothes fell out, plus the tub of powdered milk, a bottle of powder, the spare diaper left, small white towels, and three pairs of blue socks. At least, the one who snuck Baby into Andrew's SUV was considerate enough to leave them stuff. Or maybe that was part of his instructions. But nope, there wasn't a toy inside the pockets either. He tried to think of anything in their apartment that could substitute as a toy. Babies seemed to like having a colorful item waved in front of them. Neil padded into the storage room and rummaged through one of the cabinets until he found an orange Exy ball in one of the chest drawers. Strangely, when he walked back into the living room, the place had fallen quiet once again.

Neil didn't expect to find Andrew sitting on the floor with the baby in his hold. They were both staring at each other. Andrew's hands were on Baby's sides, supporting his body so he could stand on Andrew's thighs. Akin to a curious spectator, Sir Fat Cat overlooked them from the sofa. King Fluffkins didn't care much.

The goalkeeper tilted his head to Neil and eyed the Exy ball he was holding. The edge of his brow twitched. "How original," he said when he looked back at Baby.

Neil sat down beside them and showed the ball to the boy. He drew circles in the air with it, making Baby move his neck and follow the pattern with his big eyes. The resulting squeak of joy that burst out from Baby made Andrew flinch against the edge of the sofa. The striker smiled as he watched Andrew become tense, his forehead wrinkling.

"Don't," the goalkeeper said even though Neil hadn't said a word yet.

A barely perceptible smile broke on Neil's face. "I've realized he's not just smart, is he?" Neil said. "I think he's gifted, too. What if Baby is a son of an Exy diehard?"

"Then you have more than a good reason to take over now."

"What--"

Swiftly, Andrew had deposited Baby to Neil, sitting him with his back against Neil's stomach. He was fast on his feet, looking down on them with crossed arms. "There. You both make a nice image."

"Andrew," Neil hissed as panic washed over his stomach. Baby was squiggling and babbling at the same time. The striker had no choice but to quickly hold the boy under his arms before he'd bend and topple forward.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"Five minutes."

Andrew looked over his shoulder on his way out of the living room. Sir Fat Cat had jumped down from the sofa to slink after him. "Oh," he said blankly, betraying the faux epiphany that had dawned on him. "I have to prep our dinner soon. Good luck to you."

" _Andrew_."

Baby squeaked again. Biting his lip, Neil heaved a deep breath as he looked down at the boy's blond head. He shifted his position on the floor, then showed him the Exy ball. The boy reached for it with both hands. Neil allowed Baby to touch the ball, to feel the coarse surface, but pulled it away when he began to press his drooly mouth on it.

"It's dirty," he chided him softly. "And it's not your food."

Baby replied to him in that alien language. He seemed to feel like talking extensively to the ball. The striker could only sit there in the living room with a stiff back and shoulders as the afternoon stretched on. He did get to relax after a while, when Baby stayed wonderfully preoccupied with the Exy ball. Nevertheless, it didn't take sundown for Baby to get on with his mood swing. Neil had tried diverting his attention to an odd cartoon show on TV, but Baby would have none of it. He just cried and cried and cried, never seemed to tire of it.

He only became meek when Neil brought him to the kitchen and put him in his basket. Andrew was on the phone. The faucet was cut on over the pans and chopping board in the sink. His tablet was on the countertop, propped against the toaster while it was playing a news broadcast. The window above the sink was open, the curtains parted, and Andrew's cigarette pack and lighter were on the ledge. His responses to the call were minimal. The only sign that his conversation had ended was when he put the phone down beside his tablet. He glanced over his shoulder at Neil and Baby on the island, then resumed washing the pans. He had hung them by the time he faced the striker who was slouching on his stool.

"It's Bee," the goalkeeper said.

Neil lightly shook the basket, hoping to lull Baby to sleep. Andrew began serving dinner: grilled beef, potato crisps, honey dip, cheesebread, and wine.

"How is she?" Neil asked when Andrew was seated beside him, with Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins having their meal below them.

"Satisfied with her latest spending spree. She might see us this summer." By now, Bee likely knew about Baby and was checking how Andrew and Neil were faring with him.

"Can she make a visit tomorrow?"

Eyes on the boy in front of them, Andrew sipped from his glass. "You have baby duty till Monday noon," he emphasized, like it was only Neil who did. He tipped his chin toward Baby. "Take your shower ahead of me tonight. I'll watch over him after dinner."

"Well," the striker drawled, "I guess we can't share a shower this weekend at all."

"We still have the bed."

"We better still have the bed," Neil said.

The goalkeeper raised an eyebrow. He leaned in and whispered "Cranky" before brushing his lips against Neil's. The striker pushed for a heavy contact that had his lips feeling ticklish. Before he knew it, their chaste kisses had grown hungry, deep, and avid. Tongue battled against tongue, sliding over teeth, teeth scratching lips. Breaths hitched. Moans vibrated. Andrew tasted a bit of wine and cigarette and a flavor that was distinctly _Andrew_. Soon Neil had both hands pulling on his blond hair, wanting more, wanting much much more, while Andrew nipped his lip with vengeance and sucked on his tongue as though Neil's mouth was his precious life support. Their eager and frantic mouths would have been locked forever--if not for Baby's abrupt sob that froze them both.

"Milk," exhaled Andrew against Neil, his hazel eyes still dark and half-lidded from their union.

Neil cleared his throat, not trusting himself to speak properly yet. It was so tempting to skip dinner and ask Andrew to fuel their heat in the bedroom instead. But Baby's sobs emerged like an angry song. There was nothing else they could do but to sit up straight and give the boy his due attention. Andrew and Neil might be relatively ignorant of babysitting, but they were both adults who knew how to treat the child sensibly. Still, Neil would like to know how Matt and Dan survived their kids so far. Then again, they might be born inclined to them, unlike him.

"Milk," Neil breathed back before he slipped himself off the stool to get Baby's bottle from the couch in the living room. As he went to retrieve it and the milk tub, a tinny voice in his head told him that this was going to be an additional and surreal routine in the coming days.

Hence, as though channeling an uncalled prophecy, the whole weekend and Monday to Neil had been a seesaw between the strenuous duty of looking after Baby and googling. Exy had eternally dominated the searches cached on his laptop, but since Saturday night, his browsers had at least five tabs simultaneously open about emergency babysitting. Neil had typed in to read articles on _How to babysit, How often to feed babies, How do babies sleep, Infant food, What time to change diapers, Why so much shit, How to shut up babies, Baby vomit, Infant hiccups, Cats and babies, Baby talk._ Heck, he'd even searched Felix's website and Agatha with futile effort when he got worked up of balling dirty diapers by Sunday evening.

Unlike Neil, Andrew believed his gut feeling when it came to dealing with the child, which meant he spent most of his turns tending to him on an undeclared staring match. He was the one to mix him formula milk during evenings, believing that infants behaved when their stomachs were full. If the baby didn't bite the nipple of the feeding bottle, the goalkeeper would keep it lying near his face, so the bedsheets and sofa cushions were always wet with milk stains. When the baby did eat after Andrew's attempts, it was like a race to finish the bottle in record time. Afterward, the baby would cough and roll to his tummy and cough. And then throw up with his head up. By one a.m. on Monday, Andrew was convinced they needed to hold the baby upright against their chests after his meal to avoid sleeping on a puked bed.

Sleep was fragmented to every few hours at night. Not only did the baby burst into unreasonable shrieks at an unholy time, but it was also hard to get comfortable on the bed with the tubby pets in it--plus Baby. Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins had to be dragged to the edges again and again so their wayward paws wouldn't inadvertently scratch the baby. There was a barricade of towels in the middle to prevent the boy himself from crossing his zone. Originally, Andrew and Neil wanted to put him in a makeshift crib on the floor or in his basket during bedtime; however, Baby wasn't happy with his evening setup for some reason he could never explain to the grown-ups. Andrew and Neil were half way into getting a bit of sensual action on the sheets when Baby had protested and made an indignant outburst. He only calmed the hell down when he was lying on his back on their large bed.

"So much for sharing the bed," mumbled the striker before turning to his side. Andrew reached out to pinch the back of his neck. Neil grunted, but found solace that he wasn't alone with the baby. The goalkeeper never complained with the bed's arrangement, although he also had a fitful sleep.

Neil had been very close to texting Matt for advice, if only doing so wouldn't entail questions they weren't ready to answer just yet. The backliner had just shared a groupie of his wife and two kids on the Foxes' online message board. Knowing Matt, he'd tell Dan something was up, and she in turn would go on sniffing about it. Sooner or later, Baby might have to be revealed to the Foxes family, but not until Nicky met him first.

On this weekend, the couple barely stayed inside their fitness room for workout and minor weights. Neil's morning runs switched to evenings around the uptown neighborhood they lived in, which finished in walks with a cigarette between his fingers. He used the time to take a mental break, to digest the bizarre circumstances, but his brain and body were singing with so much sounds and thoughts after Baby that Neil wasn't able to substantially think of something else. Even the next game on Friday night was pleated in the corner of his mind.

The clerk at the security office had blindly given Neil the file of the Saturday morning footage they needed. His excuse was to check if it was an old enemy who'd left him a prank box on the hood of his car. The clerk laughed at the absurdity and logic of his request, saying it must only be from his playful lover or friend, before she pulled up the file from the database. She then returned to net surfing at the office computer, which was most likely prohibited during work hours, while she talked about her excitement over her resignation at the end of the month.

A thin person clad in dark hoodie and pants was recorded marching in from the direction of the fire exit and purposefully stalking toward Andrew's SUV right beside Neil's car. The grainy angle of the security camera showed that he was carrying what looked like a package covered with a white cloth bearing holes, and that he stuffed the same cloth inside his sleeves when he left the same way he came to the parking lot. The recorded time for his appearance started at 5:44 and finished at 5:56, a short window squeezed through the interval prior to a regular patrol at six.

There was no information to be gleaned other than the person's frame looked like that of a male teenager. Because he was wearing a pair of eyeglasses, a face mask, and gloves, it was impossible to be optimistic that they'd acquire adequate recognition clues. When Andrew watched the footage Neil had copied into his tablet, he deemed it unnecessary to raise signals with the security office. Neil hadn't asked for further screening to avoid having the clerk from checking the footage herself. It turned out the apartment building only had the CCTV in the parking lot for the sake of having it, but the record wasn't overseen 24/7.

"This person has likely been paid to do it," Andrew had said, which Neil also suspected of the guy on the video. If Agatha was a clever woman like his mother, then she'd have wisely planned to use a gopher.

"We might have better chances with a private eye."

"We might."

Andrew discovered that Agatha was no longer employed at Felix. The staff said she just quit her job last year, a month before she was to deliver her baby. She hadn't kept in touch with the salon staff since then. The local manager only recalled that Agatha had booked a flight to Hawaii using the salon's computer. Nobody was aware where she presently resided. And when they tried her mobile number, it was already disconnected.

"Shall we get a lawyer in advance?" Neil had asked over lunch. "In case we get smacked with a kidnapping fallout to our faces."

"Have Allison get us one when we see her again."

"We're attending her birthday party then."

"Isn't that why she's stitching a reunion for July?"

"Yeah." A reunion at her summer villa in the Hamptons was subtle, indeed. Neil wondered if their presence alone could work as her birthday gift, since there wasn't a long range of material presents that Allison would ever need from him and Andrew. Their last gift to her was a framed digital collage of herself, made up of old pictures from her days as a Fox. Neil hadn't yet thought of something unique for this year.

By mid-morning on Monday, Andrew went to pick up Nicky from the regional airport using Neil's car, which hadn't been on the road for the past several months. Nicky's second flight for the day would land at eleven-fifty, but Baby's formula milk was running out so the goalkeeper would have to drop by the store as well to stock on supplies. They reckoned Baby required a lot for when they traveled out of state for summer games. They wouldn't be home again till the second week of June.

Baby's arrangement beyond Nicky's five-day stay at their guestroom was still up in the air. The couple could sign the boy up for a nanny service in town, although completely leaving him in the care of strangers in a private care center was unsettling. There would be a track to either of their names, and Baby would have to have his own basic identity for filing. Not to mention, if they did manage to find a round-the-clock center, Andrew and Neil were going to need to make regular calls to an outsider to check on the boy's well-being.

So much to plan about. First things first, though. Neil would have to come up with the simplest stuff to tell Nicky. Andrew was unruffled when he drove off, probably because it'd be Neil who'd end up doing most of the explanation. He could foresee the awkward meeting: _Nicky, welcome. This is Baby. Baby, this is your, uhm, 'Uncle Nicky'? So, hello, wave._ But now that Neil thought about it, that wouldn't be so bad for a first meeting. Would it?

While waiting for them to arrive, the striker had downloaded a random children's app to Andrew's tablet to keep Baby interested. It was playing motions of animals in a farm. When Baby grew bored of it the fifth time, Neil showed him a muted stream of an Exy little league match. He had the boy sitting on his lap, leaning against his stomach, as Neil had his eyes on the TV. There was an action movie via cable, the plot of which Neil could barely absorb. When Baby was no longer pleased with the game, Neil set the tablet aside and gave him the Exy ball. Holding it, Baby did a monologue for almost half an hour, before his temper erupted.

"Hey, could you be a gangster boss's son?" Neil asked, partly in dark jest to his own past.

Baby answered him with a particularly ear-splitting scream. Neil didn't know if that was outright denial or confirmation, but he swore not to bring that up in the future. Shelved memories ought to stay shelved.

With the collar of Neil's t-shirt pulled up over his nose, he changed Baby's diaper, which took about fifteen minutes of removing his clothes and swiping sticky shit off his ass. When Neil put his feet down on the mat, so he could slip the clean diaper beneath him, Baby decided to spring a pee that got on the thigh of Neil's sweatpants. Baby giggled after that. _Fantastic._ Neil got the feeling Baby behaved better when it was Andrew who did this. All that intense staring must have paid off for him.

Once changed and clothed, Baby's mood flared up again. The striker inhaled and exhaled through his mouth as he prepared the feeding bottle. Baby consumed his entire meal and finished with a burp. He was nice and quiet for about five minutes on the carpet, watching the cats move about in front of the TV set with those big eyes. Then he became cheerless yet again, and Neil was growing hopeless with a looming headache. Not even a chant of "Baby, please hush," in varying tones was working. He could only wish Andrew came back soon to take over.

And then, running out of ideas, Neil did what he'd never envisioned he would. He blamed the endless keening and the lingering mess on the sofa and the wet spot on his sweatpants and his stress level spiking off the meter. With faintly trembling hands, he picked up Baby from the carpet and cradled him against his chest as he stood up. He swallowed deep breaths, walked slowly around the living room.

And then he sang.

His scarred cheeks tingled as he heard himself softly singing a freaking _Happy Birthday_ to a crying child. "Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you." When the first round ended, he was certain his hot face had turned steamy and scarlet. His heart was hammering against his sternum. He didn't even know why he was having this physiological reaction over a silly song, in the first place. Miraculously, however, his stunt worked. Baby's noises had mellowed down as he rested on Neil with his tiny hand reflexively fisting the collar of his t-shirt. Whenever Neil stopped, though, he moved restlessly in his arms, so Neil had to sing over and over and over again, till he had to alternate singing with a hum.

Did his mother try to comfort him like this when he was little? When Neil had been old enough to remember things, Mary was far from a gentle mother figure to him. Given their condition many years ago, it was only natural that a show of softness from her part would equal weakness and result in fatal mistakes. The world they lived in decades ago was cutthroat and merciless. Sentimentality had no room for both men and women in the Wesninski circle. It saddened Neil that he couldn't visualize his mother as a serene person, who could deliberately let her guard down for her own family, for her only son.

"Family was such a complicated matter," he muttered wistfully. "For me, and Andrew, and the Foxes with our pasts. And now you."

Baby babbled back then kicked his foot up, demanding his song. Neil sighed and acquiesced, resuming his unconventional lullaby. The boy was mollified, but seemed keen on staying up.

The door beeped, signaling Andrew's return. Neil straightened his back and abruptly stopped humming. Nicky's familiar voice boomed from the hallway with a buoyant, "Neil!" that could carry into the bedrooms. The sounds of a luggage trunk being hauled inside perked up Baby. Hurried footsteps ensued into the living room, and when Neil turned, Nicky blurted out "I missed you guys a lot!" while standing on the doorway with a wide grin on his face. Andrew was right behind him, holding a handful of canvas shopping bags with both hands.

Neil attempted to smile back, only his lips were too stiff to make a proper upward stretch. It didn't take a split second for Nicky's expression to change. He blinked repeatedly at the striker. His brows furrowed. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, but no words came out of him. He swiveled on his heel to look back at his cousin. Motionless, Andrew had his perfectly impassive face on. Slowly, Nicky gazed back at Neil, then at the baby. There might as well be a wool comically popping over his head. He chewed his bottom lip before he gave in to the urge to speak. Nope, Nicky Hemmick-Klose would never be able to shut up for a long time in his life.

"Sheesh, Neil. You're a sly cat. When did you give birth?"

Andrew dropped the bags from his left hand and smacked the back of Nicky's head hard.

"Ouch!" Nicky rubbed his head and abruptly stepped away from his cousin. He gestured wildly at the striker and the baby. "I mean, look! Tell me, am I terribly jetlagged or just seeing things? Was your car freshener drugged? Because I'm fairly certain that fancy blond angel over there is a baby!"

"Maybe you're going crazy," the goalkeeper replied blandly.

"What? Oh my God!" Nicky exclaimed. He walked away from the doorway, and after a few seconds trudged back in. He surveyed the living room first, his eyes straying down the floor. There lay scattered were Baby's milk tub, used diaper, socks, a stained towel, dirty wipes, a table mat, Andrew's tablet, and Neil's phone beside the remote control. On the sofa were the fluffy backpack and orange Exy ball. The TV was set on a cartoon channel in low volume, and there was the thin stench of urine and poop.

Bewildered, Nicky stared at Neil. "For real?" he asked.

Baby squeaked. The striker cleared his throat, slightly relieved that he wasn't caught during the _Happy Birthday_ song.

"Hi, Nicky," he said, shifting Baby in his arms so that the baby would face their guest. "This is Baby. Baby, he's Uncle Nicky." Andrew frowned at that introduction. Neil lifted Baby's hand up, then added, "Wave."

" _Wow_ ," Nicky exhaled with feeling, raising his hands over his head, tilting his head in disbelief. "Just...wow."

Jaws in a hard set, Andrew shook his head, picked the fallen bags up, then strode for the kitchen. Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins trailed after him, leaving Neil alone to deal with Nicky's shock.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Nicky couldn't get over his welcome, to say the least. He was stunned for a good minute in his place before he stepped further into the room.

"Boy or girl? I was thinking boy."

"Boy," Neil confirmed.

"Okay," Nicky drawled as he approached him. "I admit it's weird that Andrew invited me to come over here first. Even Aaron has no idea why when I asked him. I'm guessing he's also clueless about this. Who'd ever expect that Andrew wanted me to see, uhm, _him_?"

"Hm." Neil nodded sympathetically, adjusting his hold on Baby. In the mean time, the latter was enticed by the visitor standing in front of him. His pale-blue eyes widened as soon as Nicky bent down to look at him closely.

Somehow the striker felt bad that Nicky's stop at their home was going to be a babysitting assignment. However, he and Andrew were flying out to Houston on Wednesday morning to meet their team. The faster they briefed their guest with the situation, the sooner they'd be able to get their minds off the boy, which meant more focus on their upcoming games. Perhaps he and Andrew could make up for owing this favor to Nicky on another occasion.

"I'm sorry. Baby's the very reason we'd like you to stay here first."

Confusion marred Nicky's face. Rather than inquire about what the striker had told him, though, he said, "Wait. What's his name?"

"Baby."

"No, not the pet name."

"Baby is his name," Neil said.

"Jesus! You named him 'Baby'? And Andrew just approved? Un-fucking-believable." Hands landing on his hips, Nicky chuckled. "I'll never ever get you two in this lifetime or the next."

For a second, Neil scowled at him till he remembered his current task. "So, what do you think?"

"Mmm, I think your poor _Baby_ is very, very cute." Cooing, Nicky leaned down and tapped the boy's rosy cheeks with two fingers. Baby giggled at the fond attention. Nicky looked up at Neil. "Really, why didn't you say you had adoption plans all this time? We're not the media to make a fuss out of it, you see." The striker somewhat doubted that. The Foxes were absolutely going to make a big fuss out of it--out of the prospect that he and Andrew would be some sort of daddy. "But honestly," Nicky continued, "I won't easily suppose he is adopted. I swear he has your eyes and Andrew's hair. Surrogate baby?"

Sensing the languor of sleep deprivation and the mild ache of carrying Baby for more than an hour, Neil slumped down the sofa where Nicky perched beside him. "You're mistaken. Plus, I don't count that possible. Look well. We don't resemble him." After all, Baby's eyes were a lighter shade of blue than Neil's, and his hair was nearly platinum compared to Andrew's. Moreover, the facial features were different, softer and rounded, or so Neil had gauged. Obviously, lacking the experience, he wasn't masterful when it came to examining an infant's physical characteristics.

"Dunno, Neil. Seeing you holding him colors my judgment. But do confess, 'cause I'm super-duper curious now." Nicky moved closer and asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "Whose idea was he? Yours? Andrew's? Both?"

"Neither."

"Huh? Then how did you--" Nicky motioned around the clutter in the living room. "You know, expand."

Here went explaining about Andrew's meeting with Agatha, the abandonment, and the unplanned sheltering. Neil said, "It's complicated."

Nicky groaned in barely checked impatience. "Care to elaborate?"

The striker looked at Nicky intently. "He's not ours."

After a meandering moment, Nicky looked up at the ceiling. "And?" he prompted.

"He's with us now."

"Yes." Nicky rolled his eyes, mumbling something in German about hopeless kids. "Yes, Neil. That's pretty much apparent, actually. He's with you like Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins are."

"But we can't look after Baby because of our schedule." Neil cut to the chase. "We need you to watch over him while we're gone for games."

Five minutes crawled in heavy silence.

"That's it?" asked Nicky, clearly dissatisfied with the information he got.

"Yeah."

Nicky gestured at the boy. "You want me to babysit Baby."

Neil cast his eyes down and stroked the boy's head. "I'm sorry. Andrew and I are not comfortable with entrusting him to anybody else at present. We haven't decided yet how to go about the next months."

Suddenly, Nicky shifted sideways on the sofa, fully facing the striker. His expression was more attuned for Christmas than the summer holidays. He was looking at him as though he'd just received the best prize in the world. "Are you kidding me?" Ah, he was also speaking louder now. Andrew was most likely hearing him talk from the kitchen. "I'm definitely, definitely up for it. No need to ask even! You said it yourself earlier. I'm his Uncle Nicky. Hear that, Baby? Uncle Nicky will take splendid care of you."

The baby responded by spraying drool. "Your vacation--" Neil started.

"Oh, don't you worry about that! I'll be more than happy to take charge of your household for the time being. It's still going to be a vacation, anyway. Though I'd be happier if you can reveal a bit _more_ and shed light to the process involving his appearance." Nicky got up and pulled his phone out of his pocket, eyes scanning the living room as his mouth went forty meters per second. "Oh God, can't wait to tell Erik! He'll be totally surprised and thrilled. Hey, I'm allowed to snap pics around here, right? Baby is going to be awesome in our selfies. We'll have hundreds together. Would have to explore the rest of your crib later. Uh, where's his nursery?"

Neil dumbly stared at him. "There is no nursery."

"Where does he sleep?"

"Our bed."

"Aww," Nicky cooed. "Attached parenting? You and Andrew? Christ, I believe I'm dreaming. I daresay it breaks my heart to know why, given, you know, but never have I pegged Andrew--" Nicky was interrupted by the clanging of pans from the kitchen that lasted about two minutes. Luckily, Baby wasn't disturbed by the ear-ringing sounds. In fact, he seemed entertained by it as he bumbled on with more drool. Only when Nicky kept his mouth closed did the intentional noise stop.

Temple throbbing, Neil sighed and ran his fingers through his short auburn hair. "Would you like to hold Baby for a while? I'll bring your stuff in to the guestroom and get you some drinks."

"Sure, sure." Nicky stuffed his phone to his jeans' backpocket. He laughed nervously when Neil had transferred Baby to him. "I hope he likes Uncle Nicky."

"He's dry and fed. Just distract him with your phone or the ball." Neil almost suggested for Nicky to sing to him, but thought better of it.

As soon as Nicky's luggage had been stored in the guestroom and Neil had brought him lemon juice and a bowl of butter biscuits and told him the Wi-Fi password, Neil joined Andrew in the kitchen. Leaning against the sink, the goalkeeper was nursing a glass of bourbon. He watched Neil get a can of beer from the fridge, briefly raising an eyebrow.

"You smell."

Neil gulped down half of the beer before he hefted himself up on the counter. "Pee sprinkle."

"There's a reason we bought packs of diapers," Andrew said dryly as he refilled his glass from the side bar.

"Useless in between changes."

"You are useless during changes."

"I'm going to stick to feeding from now on. I believe Baby has favoritism issues."

"He's got himself a keen nanny from now on."

"Not for long."

The timer on the oven went off. Andrew put on mittens, took out the lasagna, and placed it on the counter. His face was an impassive mask, but Neil knew a million thoughts must be swimming in his head. Neil himself was still taken aback. For Andrew, however, Baby's circumstances hit too close to home. In the last couple nights, he lay motionless on their bed, his eyes on the ceiling, as though he was watching an old movie that was likely rolling on his mind. They hadn't discussed the implication of Baby's presence to their lives yet. Neil was willing to wait for Andrew to broach the subject, to pitch his own ideas, to spill what he could with his emotions, although Neil couldn't help verifying one thing.

Neil said softly, "We're keeping him." It was not a question nor a declaration. It was a plain statement, a reminder of what was currently happening.

Andrew gazed down at the lasagna, then looked up at Neil. He was searching for the faintest of signs on his face--for honesty, for hesitation, for alarm, for understanding, for confirmation. Neil were searching for those on him, too.

"He's not ours," Andrew said.

"I told Nicky the same thing," the striker said. "But he believes we've adopted Baby to start our own family."

Andrew scoffed. "The blabbermouth would spin any story on his own."

Neil gave him a small smile. "It's Nicky's charm. It's why you let him be the first witness."

"We have not much choice."

"Is that why we have Baby here right now?" Neil challenged Andrew's attitude. He shrugged at the goalkeeper's sharp gaze. "We're both not cut out for this. Evidently. Though I don't really mind him at home as long as you help with his poop and build him up a crib so we can claim the bed for ourselves."

"He's here because he needs shelter and immediate protection."

"And because he's like us." The striker emptied the beer can in one gulp and threw it into the bin. "What we were before."

Andrew narrowed his eyes as he went for the condiments in the cupboards. "He doesn't have to go through that kind of life."

Neil went still, recalling the content of the letter. The way Andrew had spoken sounded every inch a promise. Coming from him, this promise might as well be considered drafted and fulfilled.

_Maybe you both have something in common. I'm sorry. His redemption is out of my hands anymore._

_Redemption_ , Neil thought. Was it strong enough a motivation for a seasoned soul? His brain couldn't sort out that far ahead into the future. Andrew was also indicating the present. There was invisible distance they wouldn't cross yet.

The goalkeeper sent him an annoyed look. "Are you sleeping with your eyes peeled?"

Nonetheless, Andrew's words of hidden promise felt like a revelation, another glimpse into his spirit, a secret treat. Chest contracting and heart beating fast, Neil squeezed Andrew's arm and flashed him an earnest smile. Andrew's lips twitched from its straight line. He planted a mitten-covered palm on Neil's face and lightly shoved his head against the cupboard. With an unreadable expression, the goalkeeper began getting out forks and plates from the lower shelf. The striker bit back a toothy grin.

"Did you have a deal with Baby while I was out running in the neighborhood?"

"Shut up and set the table."

Their late lunch with their their family and friend was uneventful since Baby was asleep for hours. Lucky Nicky. He only had to take several pictures on his phone for the rest of the afternoon. After his power nap, he video-called his husband and played with Baby. He was warned by his cousin to not post anything public that might interest the nosy press, or else Andrew would make sure he wouldn't be able to return with Erik to Germany.

For Monday night, the couple grabbed the opportunity to catch up on cigarette breaks outdoors and sleep. Nicky noticed how tired they actually were when neither could react much during dinner. He volunteered to have Baby over in his room, so they could get used to each other for when Andrew and Neil were busy swinging rackets for their games. The striker told him about Baby's bedtime antics, and Nicky took his words like a soldier with his phone and Wi-Fi as weapons. But he had the advantage they didn't have over the weekend. Andrew had purchased random toys and Exy items for children, which he'd handed to Nicky in a large bag while they were watching the late night news in the living room.

"Uncle Nicky will manage just fine. Baby and I will have a family bonding session. Right, Baby?" he told the cooing boy in his arms. "See, your great daddies need to recharge. And I think they also need to reconquer their bedroom. By reconquer, I'm referring to--Oops! We'll talk about that when you're eighteen and all grown-up."

Andrew banged the remote control down the coffee table. "What if we let you swim back to Germany when he's eighteen and all grown-up?"

With a clammy hand, Neil wiped his forehead wearily. "We're not _his_ _daddies_ ," he stressed.

Holding Baby protectively in his arms, Nicky had retreated to the corner of the room. "Geez, guys. Your awful sense of humor is bad influence for dear Baby. Speaking of _Baby_ , come on. Who on earth names an angel like him 'Baby' other than you cruel aliens? It's a waste of birth certificate. Fortunately, Uncle Nicky will come up with a much better name and find him a nice lawyer to correct that. Just watch. I'm going to be his hero."

Of course, Nicky was unaware that Baby did not have an identifiable birth certificate yet. Andrew and Neil listened to his nonstop chatter till it was time to retire to their bedroom. Their sleep was decent, though not a straight blackout, since they could still hear Baby's muffled cries from the guestroom.

Next morning, both of them went on a run together, dropped by a store for booze and snacks, and worked out in their fitness room until twelve in between calls from their head coach and team manager. Following the health plan on the couple's recipe corner, which had been purposefully neglected during days off, Nicky had steamed asparagus and baked meat with peppered potatoes for lunch while Baby slept. During their meal, his tablet was propped up against his tumbler with the external silicon keyboard rolled out. Nicky was shopping online, and when Neil peeked, he found him browsing for walkers and various costumes for kids. It was unusual how much concentration he poured over the activity. Neil was certain that Nicky had never been this focused during an exam week at Palmetto State.

Expectedly, he bugged his cousin into disclosing more about Baby, which didn't end well. Andrew threatened him with the kitchen knives, laundry detergent, and Baby's dirty diapers, so Nicky reined in his unfiltered mouth and switched his attention to Baby instead. Despite the latter's mood swings, the two were getting along really well, except whenever Nicky made funny faces that seemed to scare Baby shitless. When Neil couldn't digest the sports news on his laptop anymore, he went to the guestroom and found Nicky looking foolish, doing exaggerated pouts and grins and eye rolls. He had to whisk the crying boy away from his teasing.

"Don't traumatize him."

"Should I be touched that you're a protective daddy?" said Nicky. "Or should I be offended with what you're implying?"

"I mean it," said Neil. Whatever he meant, he didn't expound on it. "Baby doesn't like that."

"You tried it with him already?"

The striker huffed. "No."

"Go on, Neil. Let me see you in Daddy mode."

"I'm not his daddy," the striker repeated for the umpteenth time.

"Why? You prefer to be called _Papa_?"

"Nicky," icily called Andrew from the open door. He was dressed in a gray shirt and dark denims.

Upon seeing him, his cousin had quickly shut up for a second. "Right. No more funny faces," Nicky relented. "Promise!"

"We're going."

"Where?" Nicky asked cautiously.

"Town."

"You're not gonna dump my remains somewhere deserted, are you?"

"One minute," was all Andrew said before he turned away.

"Always feels like college all over again with you guys."

Nicky kissed Baby goodbye on his broad forehead. Belatedly, while standing inside the untidy guestroom, Neil realized that he was the one left to handle Baby's fit.

The cousins came back a little over two hours later. Baby was a nice boy once again by then. He was communicating with the orange Exy ball, spreading drool on it, while lounging on Neil's lap in the dining room. Andrew stared down at Baby for a very long moment before he walked over and reached out to take him from Neil. Baby squealed while he was raised in the air. The goalkeeper secured him in his arms, snatched the ball from Neil, then went to the direction of the living room, passing by Nicky in the hallway.

Eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, his cousin gaped after him before he plopped down across Neil. He shook his head a few times before speaking. "If only it wasn't so perilous, I'd _love_ to get a picture of them like that."

The striker got up to give him a chilled soda, sat back down, then grinned. "You can try."

"Thanks." Nicky took a gulp. "I still want to become a senior citizen with Erik, preferably in Europe."

"How are you both lately, by the way? I'm sorry. I haven't gotten around to asking till now."

"No worries." Nicky patted his hand. "I see you have a lot on your plate. But to answer your question, last month Erik and I have joined this diverse group that offers free counseling and hosts fun intercultural events for married people." Nicky regaled Neil with stories of the recent camp in Czech Republic that they participated in. It was amusing to hear Nicky drone on about his work adventures and in-laws. He did most of the chatting, and Neil was cool with it. The striker responded every few sentences and talked about the current Exy season in return. Nicky shared stories about the pro-games he and Erik had seen in Berlin this year.

When Nicky halted to sip his soda, Neil said sincerely, "It's really good to see you again, Nicky."

Whatever was on his face then made the former backliner of the Foxes warmly smile at him. "I missed you, too. Can't tell you how glad I am that I've been invited to see you and Andrew first. And that you two allowed me to meet Baby."

"That's, it's, uhm--" Biting his lip, the striker tapped his fingers on the table, scouring his brain for the best way to put it for his friend to prevent resulting expectations on Andrew's part. "Baby is not like Kevin's Amalia or Allison's Tobias or the other Foxes' babies."

"You pertain to him not being your biological child," Nicky supplied, expression turning serious.

"Yes."

"All right. I get that, Neil. You've told me as much yesterday."

"Not only that, though." At Nicky's puzzled silence, Neil exhaled. "He's not here as our child." The dining room was soundless for a few minutes. Not willing to elucidate further, Neil added, "That's all I can say for now."

Nicky nodded. Then he raised an index finger. "Question: how long has Baby been with you and Andrew?"

"Days," said Neil.

"Not even a month yet?"

The striker shook his head. Not even a week yet, he wanted to say. He could see Nicky trying to grasp everything that he'd been told so far.

"Next question," he said. "Is Baby on the same level as Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins?"

Neil's brows furrowed. "Well, he is not a cat. He requires much more from me and Andrew. And also you."

"Okay." Chin on folded arms, Nicky leaned forward on the table. "One more question: does Andrew think of him as he would of your cats?"

The cats were essential parts of their home, but they're different. Neil shifted in his seat, his vision wandering to where Andrew had gone. "That's probably never happening." A fuzzy sensation was welling up in his chest. "He can relate to him," he said in a low voice. After a pensive minute, the striker darted his gaze back at Nicky. "Andrew and Baby, they have their own sort of understanding. I think."

Taking that in, Nicky hummed then his eyes crinkled. He beamed at Neil. "There's hope then."

"Hope," Neil repeated.

"Yep. That someday Baby becomes an undeniable and official heir of two amazing Foxes. Well, what did I anticipate? Stuffs like these for you and my poor cousin are extremely and supremely intricate. Though I understand. Progress is progress. I'll be patient till you tell us more. What matters now is Baby has you and his Uncle Nicky. So, I'm gonna extend my stay in your apartment to two weeks."

"What about your trip to Aaron's and Renee's next week?"

Nicky waved him off. "We can resched that anytime. I'm sure they'll accommodate. They shared their June calendar via e-mail already. Also, I've sent Baby's photo to Erik. He'd like to meet him soon. Uh, if it's all right with you."

"Yeah, of course," the striker said, internally overwhelmed by what Nicky had said. Somehow this conversation reminded him of the one they had in Palmetto's library during his freshman year a long time ago. "Erik's family. He's welcome here. Thank you."

"No, Neil. Thank _you_. You know, we have discussed adoption, too. I guess we wanna have a taste and experience what it's like to be parents for a bit before we really decide. To be honest, I kinda envy you. So far, it's such a strange feeling."

"It is _strange_ ," Neil confirmed. Strange was an understatement, actually. One minute he was inwardly panicking over Baby's temper, unwilling to be with him in the same room. The next second, he was all right with everything and couldn't be bothered much beyond Exy in his head. Then he'd be anxious again before Andrew's presence grounded him. The cycle had been going on for four days. Now, all these talk about parenting and ambivalent acceptance and Nicky's conclusions and the speed of where things were leading to since Saturday morning were making his stomach ache. He could outrun players in any Exy Court, but sitting here in front of Nicky, he felt like he could barely keep up. "Where did you and Andrew drive to earlier?"

Yawning, Nicky stretched his arms up, easing a few knots from his shoulders. "He didn't say? We visited a couple of day care centers. He made me sign up for Thursday and Friday morning slots. I'd still be there, just learning from professional help. It'd be like baby lessons. Oh, and you should have seen the receptionist's face when I passed on Baby's supposed name since Andrew didn't want his official one publicly revealed. Afterwards, we passed by a child clinic, just to see the location, and drove to a shop to buy a detachable car seat thingy for Baby."

Neil reckoned Andrew allowed the sign up and did the purchase to give Nicky some breathing time in the coming days in addition to sneaking him chances for a well-deserved stroll. His cousin was kind to not rant about last night's challenges. The dark bags under his eyes were proof enough that it hadn't been smooth with Baby despite the toys; however, Nicky exuded candid and merry energy the entire morning. He was running a mission that really appealed to him. Neil was grateful because he was never going to be as upbeat a caregiver as Nicky.

Their conversation veered off to different topics, mainly about the other Foxes and their current endeavours. At five-thirty, Nicky plugged his tablet into the socket at the corner of the dining room then took a nap in the guestroom. Neil tidied up in the kitchen and the empty living room before he went to check on Andrew. Lying on his side, the goalkeeper was asleep on their bed, wearing a loose black t-shirt, his arm bands, and gray cotton shorts. Sir Fat Cat was curled up by his feet, and King Fluffkins was licking his fur on the floor. In the middle of the mattress, Baby was also sleeping, clad in a set of white clothes Neil hadn't seen in his backpack. As soon as he closed the door, Andrew stirred and raised his head at him.

The striker drew near and leaned down a moment for a languid kiss that Andrew reciprocated generously. He padded toward the opposite side of the bed, set the milk bottle to the night stand, and lay down on his back as well, uncaring of the wet spot beneath his shoulder. He closed his eyes, but wasn't intent on slumber. His back muscles relaxed. For several minutes, he was floating in that overlapping sphere between awareness and unconsciousnees, when Andrew spoke in the dreamy quiet.

"I hired one of Pemberton's to shadow Nicky."

Neil slowly unclosed his eyes and stared up at the dim ceiling. It had been a while since he heard of him. Glen Pemberton. Ex-military hotshot-turned-entrepreneur. Married to a former Hollywood stuntwoman. He co-owned a commercial building in the business district and a mixed martial arts center in town. His general aura reminded Neil of Coach Wymack. Andrew had met him off-season three years ago during an evening match he'd watched in his center on a whim.

They weren't exactly friends; however, following a few local fight shows that Andrew had attended, the two ended up having a social agreement. They'd practice some complex striking and grappling techniques every once in a while, mostly when Andrew and Neil were back at home for more than a couple of weeks. Neil preferred observing them on the sidelines. There were nights when Pemberton would show them a case of small guns in his office. He was a seller as well as a collector of both replica and authentic. Andrew was interested, but hadn't found yet a reason to act on said interest.

Later on, it became clear that Pemberton kept a close circle of men and women with similar backgrounds. Besides their main occupations and busy family lives, they did seasonal security commissions but were very particular to whom they extended their expert services. Andrew had met some of them in the ring and seemed to have their contacts saved for posterity. He hadn't required anything from them till now.

"Does he know a good PI?"

"Didn't ask him yet. Just made him think the baby is Nicky's responsibility, let on that Nicky's a relative. Our apartment and cars are also accounted for." And Nicky wouldn't know that he had a watcher or two on his holidays.

Neil turned to his side and faced Andrew. The goalkeeper was looking back at him with a tranquil expression and heavy-lidded eyes.

"Add Erik to the list. He's joining them next week."

Andrew shifted lightly. "Pemberton will be extra-curious."

"Hm. I hope you get a discount after all those overpriced tickets he sells you monthly." The striker studied the way Baby's chest rose and fell with each of his peaceful breath.

"He shouldn't argue since Christine won a big sum on our previous game."

"Maybe I should start betting on one of her husband's local fights."

"Then Pemberton would propose that I climb up his ring."

What a way to steal the attention of local reporters. Andrew J. Minyard, starting goalkeeper of the US Exy Court, dabbling in another contact sport, albeit this time fans could actually view him unleash his mystery fury using his fists and make somebody bleed up close. Then the press would ambush interview Neil after a game for his opinion on his boyfriend's fierce hobbies.

A short whimper disturbed the silent moment. Baby's eyes were open. He proceeded with a sob. Neil stiffened. Two nights in a row with him on their bed, and he wasn't getting used to it. The thing was, he might never get used to his sudden crying. It sounded uncomfortable coming from his small body. Baby's brows were a knitted line. He rubbed at his nose with his tiny fist, looking every bit irritated upon waking.

Neil wondered if he had a bad dream. Neil wondered if infants stored vivid memories that they could suffer frequent nightmares. What was he dreaming about? Was he afraid? Lonely? Mad at the world? Did Baby know his mother? His father? Was he already an orphan? Would somebody come back for him one day? Was he going to stay? Would Baby like to stay?

With light and shadows falling on his clean shaven face, Andrew lifted a hand, lowered an index finger to Baby's forehead, slowly landing the tip right between his eyebrows. He let his finger stay there on Baby's skin until those eyebrows relaxed. Then Baby stopped sobbing, his half-cries reduced to soft, unidentifiable noises. Turning his head to Andrew, Baby's frown gradually disappeared, replaced by engagement. Neil's heart was thumping in his breast as he stared at them.

Beneath fair lashes, hazel eyes met a second pair of blues.

"He likes you," Neil said. And _you like him_. But that was already virtually conveyed by the look on his own face.

"Because he's smart," Andrew said nonchalantly.

The ends of Neil's lips curved up.

Andrew's jaw clenched. "And if you're smart enough, you'll start packing our things for tomorrow."

Neil couldn't help the tickling sensation deep in his lips as he got up on his feet and opened their closet.


	4. Chapter Four

They didn't even make it to bed after the hot shower. And after this, they'd certainly have to take another hot shower.

Mouth ajar and wet hair tousled in all directions, Neil lolled his head back against the large mirror, exposing the length of his reddish neck for more frenzied attention. His palms had been plastered on Andrew's back, nails digging and scraping at the muscular flesh. Sweat coated his lean body from head to foot. Then his hands slipped down, falling to clutch at the edge of slick furface where lube had spilled a while ago, as Andrew moved with him, pulled and pushed, maneuvering him, knowing Neil wanted it, his legs now hanging past the goalkeeper's sturdy shoulders, toes curling at every mind-blowing thrust, at every vicious bite to his chest and collar bone, at every consuming kiss that flamed his senses and stole his breath.

It was one of those charged times when Neil was instantly uninhibited and he let go, when Andrew was unapologetically ardent and he also let go. Both were operating on an endless litany of "yes" and "more." Unable to get enough contact with each other, the goalkeeper yanked Neil closer, inclining over him, leaving his backside barely perched on the counter, squeezing his hips with determined hands, promising welcome bruises for him in the morning. He dragged his thick shaft from Neil's tight passage, getting nearly off the rim, slowly thrilling, eliciting throaty responses with each fraction in.

After tracing Neil's ear with his tongue and keeping his mouth against the side of auburn head, he plunged his hips so abruptly and blissfully deep that Neil cried out, his voice obscene and shameless. His blue eyes rolled back, with faint sting at the edges. At the powerful slams that followed, his cock throbbed and leaked helplessly against his abdomen. The slap of flesh against flesh bounced all over the walls of the bathroom, echoing to their hearts and ears.

Their mouths connected, drinking each other's air. They were drowning in overflowing emotions that were meant for only each other. For them--even at times when it's leisurely--it would always be like this: passionate, feverish, absolute, complete.

Elbows sore on the marble, Neil groaned, feeling his nerves begin to rejoice at the closeness of his peak. Andrew's heat had long fused into his skin. Their pulses drummed beneath. The goalkeeper was grunting louder now, like a beast, his pace vigorous yet faltering. Containing him, Neil understood, clinging to him out of habit, out of reflex. And then his gland was hit with such ferocity that intense red washed over his vision, his muscles pulled taut, his voice hoarse from a sinful moan. He climaxed in white bursts that sent violent tremors to his body that rose from his core.

For a moment, he couldn't see anything, couldn't feel anything, couldn't hear anything apart from his raging heartbeat, and when the world came back to him in growing clarity, liquid heat was already inside him, filling his body in a way that only Andrew could. Neil couldn't tell who exploded first during the intensity of their friction. It didn't matter anyway. What counted was the warmth of wet lips against his forehead, the skin beneath tingling from the affection.

Unwilling to part yet, they panted together, their lungs sucking breaths as though they'd just ran the marathon for a hundred miles. Neither could speak yet. Neither could move yet. And that was just okay, because they needed this moment to last and be carved into their shared memories.

The team lost the game last Friday night by three points, but this hour in their Sunday evening felt like a win to both of them. When sweat became cold on their skin and the angle of their union grew awkward, Andrew pulled out unhurriedly, letting Neil step down from the counter gingerly. The striker wrapped his arms around his neck, resting his flushed face on Andrew's shoulder. He shivered against him. Not from a chill but because of the trickle from his crevice, dripping down the back of his thighs.

A purr was inevitable. "That felt like a lot," Neil said with a breathy voice.

Hands snaked around his back, keeping him close. "Somebody was squeezing me so fucking much."

"Oh, well." The striker smiled. "Now you might get me pregnant." Andrew smacked his butt. Neil jolted and gasped, then he raised his head and gave the goalkeeper a half-assed glare before it morphed into an amused look. "What?"

"You and your mouth today."

"The reporter was asking for it," Neil said cheekily. Accordingly, his butt cheek was pinched. Whining with a sharp, "Hey," he rubbed at the flesh Andrew had targeted. And then they were kissing again on their way back to the shower booth.

It had almost been seven months since it was confirmed to the public that they were together. The team's management refused interviews that were specifically about their relationship. Consequently, the buzz died down after some time. But just when they thought the media was finally focusing, as it should, on the sport and the players' performance, a celebrity segment of a morning news program had Kevin Day over as a guest in February. The hosts asked him if his college teammates Andrew and Neil had any plans to get married anytime soon. Kevin, the damn camera pleaser that he was, flashed a lustrous smile that would have many fans swooning and only said, "No comment." Ill combination, that was.

Having gotten wind of the hazy statement, Coach Griffiths called the couple in his office after an all-star event their major ad sponsor was hosting. He demanded when they were planning to notify him first of any personal arrangement to save themselves of press swarming and urgent sponsor meetings. Andrew was stolid when he told the middle-aged man that there was zero need to bustle, adding that nobody had any say about their private lives anyway. Neil texted Kevin, demanding what the hell his blasted "No comment" was about. The latter just replied that he meant it as it was: he had nothing to explain to the hosts. Neil was convinced Kevin simply tossed a spectacular method to lead Exy followers into considering whatever they wanted to consider.

The search phrase _Kevin Day No Comment_ was still making noise on the Internet. Andrew and Neil's crazy teammates even copied the response, attaching a knowing smirk on their mugs, whenever the reporters threw personal questions about their own private affairs. Their starting goalkeeper smashed balls toward them during practices afterward.

Automatically, the rest of the Foxes also reacted to the controversy. Two days later, even Coach Wymack sent Andrew an e-mail without a subject but with a single line in the body: "Hope we get invited if it's true." The striker didn't know if the man got a reply to that.

Nicky was stimulating their little band of Palmetto alumni on their exclusive message board with his incessant suggestions for wedding themes and dates that others had bitten quickly, until Andrew was piqued enough to post something in ages. It so happened he and Neil were at Pemberton's at the time. The goalkeeper uploaded a picture of a vintage revolver replica which Christine had just bought from France. Everybody shut up straight away. After a few hours, Aaron, who hadn't joined in the conversation like Kevin, shared a hyperlink of a foreign medical mission where people could donate online. Nicky responded to that promptly and so did the others, the topic changing from there on. Thus, the wedding issue had been buried.

Still and all, there was lingering intrigue about their relationship. The paparazzi wouldn't dare follow the two of them beyond matches, but reporters could be bold during conferences and official event sightings. This Sunday morning, when the whole team was off signing merchandise at an event lounge, right on the second level of the Houston branch of an international sports apparel they collectively endorsed, Neil was addressed by one of the correspondents present, someone young whom he hadn't seen before.

"Mr. Josten, top model Wilhelmina Vellpérse recently revealed her long-time crush. In fact, she's told _U-th Magazine_ that she's been in love with Mr. Minyard for years after watching one of his early games in LA. Any comments about that?"

The striker was sitting at the right end of the panel table behind a large tarpaulin of the shop's ad featuring their entire team. Beside him, Andrew kept on signing purchased tumblers and t-shirts, indifferent to what he was hearing around him on the low stage. On the goalkeeper's other side, Burton the Bastard was discreetly snickering while drawing smileys above his signature with his marker. Their manager Ursula was standing a little far back on the side, talking to brand marketers. She spared him a glance over her silver-rimmed glasses that said he better be careful with his responses. Unfamiliar with the model the correspondent had mentioned, Neil shook his head and offered him a polite smile. "No."

"So you have no problems with her feelings?"

Like the striker could control her feelings. "She's fine," he said amiably, looking away from the camera. Burton feigned to cough briefly to his fist. Andrew's brows drew down. Neil finished signing a pair of white wrist bands when the correspondent spoke again.

"That's cool of you, Mr. Josten. We heard she wants to invite him to a house party in NYC. You also okay with that if he comes?"

 _Gracious._ It'd probably snow everyday this summer before Andrew would be hauled to socialize in a house party of a standout celebrity. Neil ignored the question in favor of talking briefly to a little girl who wanted to have the front of her new shoes signed. He would rather discuss the chances of winning against their next opponent than be involved in further entertainment gossip; unfortunately, said correspondent was insistent on getting something personal out of him.

"People have been wondering how long you've actually been together with Mr. Minyard. Have you two ever been close to splitting in the past? Any temptations every now and then? Do you still see yourself with him next year or so?"

Brows raising, Burton whistled as he shook his head. Andrew pointedly put his marker down with force that could break it in half and eyed the correspondent sharply and heatedly. He might as well set him on fire with his gaze alone. The teenager who was about to get his duffel bag signed by the goalkeeper took a small step back. Neil's forehead creased at that line of questioning. He and Andrew didn't deny what they had because it was the truth, plain and simple; however, they didn't have it out for everyone's knowledge so people could stamp an expiration date on them.

"Mr. Josten?" said the correspondent.

From the corner of Neil's eye, he could tell the goalkeeper beside him was about to stand up to personally shoo the bug away, when Ursula stepped in from behind and put a firm hand on the back of his chair. Neil was certain she was radiating intimidation across the queue with her beautiful yet stern face.

"Hello. I'm the team manager, Ursula Stegner. I believe this is your first time to one of the events of our team," she said with her strong-arm professional tone, stretching her hand out to the correspondent which the latter shook with an untroubled smile.

"Liam Grau. Pleased to meet you. Yes, it is the first. Just have a few questions here for one of your star strikers."

"Doesn't seem like few to us," Ursula said.

"Mr. Josten?" the correspondent said again, as though he hadn't just been warned by Ursula's presence.

The striker set his marker down, too, then he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked Grau in the eye intently. "Honestly, I don't think I have anything to discuss outside of Exy. But," he said with a resounding b, "to appease _your curiosity_ , yes, I see Andrew and I staying together for ages, probably until a second moon pops up in the sky."

When Grau started with another, "Do you--" Neil snapped with a "No!" He heard Ursula move over his shoulder and felt Andrew's stare and people's eyes on him. "No. Don't ever ask me questions about us having dates, about us getting married, about us going on some honeymoon abroad, or about me possibly carrying a baby or two. We will never answer any of those because you don't have to know anything about us beyond our world inside the Court. That's all. Thank you very much and good day to you, Mr. Grau."

At last, the correspondent pursed his lips, then turned away.

Face down the table, Burton couldn't hold in his roaring laughter. Andrew's eyes followed the direction the correspondent had gone to with his cameraman. It was minutes before he resumed signing the duffel bag he was holding in his fist. The teenager mumbled an anxious, "Thank you," to him. Hardly off the stage, Ursula had began making a call, likely to their PR team, a manicured hand on her hip. When Burton recovered with teary eyes, he told them, "This is why I love being your teammate, guys." The goalkeeper had elbowed Burton's side hard in return.

On their way to the first-class hotel resort that housed the entire team, Neil googled the said model crushing on Andrew. He had the spelling of her last name wrong on the first try, but the Internet knew her so well to still list relevant searches. Proving Grau's point, there was an article about her interest on the goalkeeper. There was a photo of her Exy collectibles, mostly of their team. Several magazine images showed on his searches, projecting her slender body and face that looked like a doll's with dark hair. One columnist remarked about her taste of so-called "bad boys" based on her dating history with musicians and actors. Andrew snatched Neil's phone when he saw what he was reading up.

They spent the early afternoon resting in their suite, hours of straight practice with the team afterward, followed by a group dinner, before they all went back to the hotel on their bus. The couple decided to have a long hot shower, which they did twice this evening. The goalkeeper helped Neil with rinsing up in the shower then headed first to their bedroom as Neil stayed behind to shave and rearrange the toiletries on the counter. When the striker came out all dried up and dressed, he found Andrew cross-legged on the four-poster bed, wearing a V-neck shirt and cotton pants, scowling down at his tablet that was propped on the pillow. His chin was on his steepled fingers. Only when Neil heard Nicky's voice as he approached did he realize that Andrew was on a video call.

"--is what the day care's in-house doctor said about his longer tantrums. His gums were checked, so everything's okay now. Oh, hi, Neil. Here's Baby."

The video panned from a close-up of Nicky's face to Erik on the couch, with Baby sleeping in his lap. Having arrived yesterday morning in US soil, he waved at Andrew and Neil from their apartment. Only the striker returned the gesture. Andrew's tipping of his head was the friendliest greeting his cousin-in-law would get from him tonight.

Since Wednesday when the athletes left for Houston, they had been receiving several pictures and messages every few hours that detailed what Nicky and Baby had been doing inside and outside of their apartment. There were also updates on the cats. Aside from those, the goalkeeper also received texts from Pemberton's people, short reports to apprise him of what was happening. Nonetheless, Neil and Andrew called Nicky's account in the early mornings and late evenings for synchronized talks.

"What's up with his gums?" asked Neil, lying on his stomach beside Andrew. The video zoomed in on Baby's serene face.

"He's starting to have a tooth! Isn't that amazing?"

"Tooth?" Yesterday, Nicky just informed them that Baby looked like he'd begin crawling in the coming months. The boy seemed to be growing real fast if he'd sprout teeth, too.

The video zoomed out then panned back to Nicky's face. "Yeah. Tooth. It's a white dot growing on his front upper gums. I'll send you a picture later."

"Isn't that too soon for him?"

Nicky hummed. "Now that you mention it, uhm, how old is Baby exactly? I managed to skip the birth date on the sign up sheet. Also, told the nanny in the day care last Friday he's about four months old? But she says with his size, he can pass a little older, look more like between his fifth and sixth month already."

It was a question they couldn't really answer. Neil looked up at Andrew, who kept his hazel eyes down on the tablet. Predictably, instead of responding to what Nicky had just asked, he said coldly, "Don't fool me with your stories. I hope you remember your word, Nicky. What did I tell you about your Internet posting?"

Ah, Internet posting. Apparently, since this morning, his cousin shook the Foxes' message board into a ballyhoo over selfies and clips of Baby that he'd shared. The first photo was of Nicky holding the boy against his chest while he was feeding him. Like Nicky, Baby's pale-blue eyes were looking straight into the camera, though there was a slight downward pull to his brows, contrasting his companion's happily arched brows and broad smile.

The follow-up caption was: _Me on Uncle Nicky mode at A &N's place. Uncle Erik be joining us boys for late bfast in a jiffy._

The Foxes had been updated that Nicky was staying with them this week and the next, but they weren't aware of what Nicky was particularly up to. Until today, that was. After seeing the baby posts and their friends' very Fox-y online reactions amid the team's dinner in a vegan restaurant, Andrew and Neil decided to log out immediately, though not before reading the conversations of the day so far.

Fifteen minutes after the former backliner's post, Allison was the first to write back.

 _\--Just bit my tongue over shrimp salad!_ >:{ _What a whack, Nick. Mi pickup slow today. Runway night, hangover, etc, etc._

A while later, Dan sent in an eloquent _HAHAHA!_ followed by a longer entry.

_\--Got the almost joke now. Good morning, N and E. Morning, Queen and the rest._

After an hour, Matt, wherever he was with his own team, chatted in.

 _\--Cute_ :))) _Rik, brought your nephew to States too?_

Nicky uploaded another picture, this time of Baby on his bath in a basin while holding a rattle toy. Andrew and Neil had never thought of giving Baby a soak, as both of them decided wiping him with soapy towels was adequate in keeping him clean and fresh-smelling. That picture got some fond emoticons from Dan and Allison.

Erik replied to Matt.

 _\--Nein. I'm afraid he might be Nicky's nephew first_ ;-)

His husband followed.

_\--Self declaring now. He's really gonna be my nephew._

_\--Maybe unofficially, tho._

Allison put in _Huh?_ and Dan sent _Don't get that one_. Both of which were ignored by Nicky.

Even Renee had logged later but only wrote briefly.

_\--Welcome back, Erik. Nicky, he's a handsome boy._

Kately had been online, too.

_\--I agree! Looks so cuddly. BTW, hello to you all!_

There had been a bunch of greetings and an exchange of what each of them were busy with recently this week. Nicky had told them his cousin and Neil were still in Texas. Then there were more selfies from the others. Even Matt in his practice gear had sent one. As expected, Aaron was quiet and so was Kevin's camp. They often were, unless there was an occasion to talk about or the board's topics were about politics, films, Exy, and current events.

Andrew viewed the board every other night but would never post on it, save for when he was motivated by a legitimately convincing reason to upload or write something, which was rarer than a blue moon. The last entry he had was the picture of the revolver that nobody had commented about. Neil did check the board at night as well and participated to conversations every few days. His replies were minimal at best, as he was content to read the various updates and be entertained by the Foxes' online bickering. They had kept in touch regularly with one another like this through the years, and it was a small gesture from their everyday lives that meant the world to Neil. Although Andrew wouldn't admit it aloud, he was mostly amused by the constant messaging...except by today's thread, after viewing the trail of Nicky's baby-related posts.

About lunch time, Nicky had added a clip where Baby was sitting and seemingly babbling to the orange Exy ball that Neil had given him. Then another clip followed with Baby's mouth on the ball.

_\--It's nature's sign. This baby's gonna be a Fox someday._

Again, Allison reacted to him first after a few minutes.

_\--Ha! Not natural. You bought him the ball = conditioning._

_\--Nope, nope. Didn't buy. Just Daddies given._

Nicky's reply had been very prompt. So was Allison's.

_\--Daddies?_

There seemed to be no more snap responses from Nicky then; however, Allison had caught on easily to his answer like shark on blood, because she decided to shoot successive messages within an hour:

_\--Daddies?!_

_\--As in plural???_

_\--Is it still April Fools'?_

_\--Nicholas Esteban Hemmick-Klose, don't you dare troll us!!!_

_\--I know you're still online there. Explain Daddies!_

_\--Now!_

_\--OMG!!!_

_\--Calling other Foxes, are you guys thinking what I'm thinking right now?_

_\--I swear I'm going crazy over this. Can't concentrate on my meeting anymore!_

_\--NICKY, WHO IS THIS BLOND BABY?!_

More than an hour later, Dan wrote in, too.

_\--Just saw this. I'm bugged now, too. Please spill. Whose baby is he really?_

A couple of hours later, Matt posted a remarkable question.

_\--Is it possible the blond baby's daddies are in TX?_

Allison seemed to have lost it. And after that, it was a spiral of Foxes' comments through different timestamps.

 _\--_ Allison: _WAAAAAAAHHHHH!_

 _\--_ Nicky: _Fucking slip! Please pray for my soul. Like, honestly. Starting right this sec._

 _\--_ Dan: _OMG indeed. Is it true? Don't we need legit statement?_

 _\--_ Erik: _Sorry, dear friends. We can't tell you anything more_.

 _\--_ Matt: _On my break and read this. Cheers_.

 _\--_ Dan: _Don't know what to really say. Cue to speechless surprise over here._

 _\--_ Katelyn: _Me, too._

 _\--_ Matt: _Ohhh, I can see where this is going. Let's pray there's NO Internet in TX._

 _\--_ Renee: _We probably shouldn't say anything at the moment. Nicky, hope you're all right._

 _\--_ Allison: _Asdfghjkl What's his name? I mean which last name does he use? When did you find out? How did they hide him all this time? How did he materialize on this earth?_

 _\--_ Renee: _Too many Qs._

 _\--_ Allison: _Why, oh why? Aren't you effin curious?_

 _\--_ Renee: _We should wait for information to be volunteered._

 _\--_ Kevin: _That's great interest. The boy should be trained early._

 _\--_ Nicky: _OUTRAGEOUS! Can never get the brains of Exy addicts._

 _\--_ Dan: _Uh, but one of the "Daddies" is also an Exy addict?_

 _\--_ Allison: _Good point. Oh, but Kevin Day? You shouldn't have been online. Aren't you fucking busy? Go back to your racket and swim in the court. Better yet, just stick to reading when you're here._

 _\--_ Kevin: _I'll make sure he gets prep-Exy classes with Amalia._

 _\--_ Matt: _Geez Dude, not old enough._

 _\--_ Kevin: _The earlier, the better. HS or Uni is too late._

 _\--_ Nicky: _Seriously, K? I give up._

 _\--_ Allison: _True! UGH!_

 _­--_ Dan: _Shouldn't Kevin be sticking to No comment?_

 _\--_ Nicky: _LMAO! Yeah! Epic, man._

 _\--_ Allison: _IKR! LOL_

 _\--_ Matt: _The real troll is here._

 _\--_ Kevin: _FU all._

 _\--_ Matt: _Hey, just checked news at our pad. Have you watched Neil's latest interview yet?_

Neil had anticipated something like this. Nicky was too hyped-up for his lips to stay sealed over the baby. Not that Andrew had specifically forbidden him from letting the Foxes know, anyway. Still, Nicky should have known better than to make a big deal out of Baby. He cringed and put a small distance between his face and the phone in his hand, even though his fuming cousin was on a different state and couldn't possibly reach to strangle him through the video call.

"Uhm, they're not really public posts, you see?" he croaked nervously.

The goalkeeper glared at him for several minutes. His cousin cleared his throat as he rubbed on his forehead through the tense dead air.

"Come on, it's just our board. It's private. Our secret custom app. I kept my promise. No public posts at all."

"How many people does it take to make it public?"

"It's the Foxes, Andrew. They're like our family, too."

"They're chipmunks with nothing wise to do."

Nicky sighed, his voice sounding a little strange, dark eyes fluttering and unable to focus on his cousin. "I'm sorry. I just think you cannot keep Baby away from the big world. He's not a pet that can just play at home without anyone else knowing for long. Baby's an adorable boy. He deserves some exposure and more people than a few of us who'd care about him. The Foxes obviously like him, and-- I'm sorry."

The striker thought Nicky was on the verge of tears. He got up on his knees as he stared at the tablet, feeling heat emanating from beside him on the bed. Andrew's nostrils were flaring. His lips were a line of steel on his icy face. His steepled fingers were slightly shaking. Neil placed his hand on Andrew's knee. Hazel eyes moved and fixed on him. His jaw worked up the muscles on his cheeks before he switched his attention back to his cousin.

"Ensure that none of this gets leaked," Andrew uttered, short of gritting each word out. "We already have our quota of the press today."

Neil rolled his eyes as he sat back on his heels. Nicky's face lit up at Andrew's response. He was suddenly too close to the camera, a smile curving up his lips. "Of course, of course! I only meant to tell the Foxes. Only them. And I'm sure they completely understand, especially after they watched Neil's interview."

"Yeah, I'm sure Kevin has learned something," the striker commented.

"If he doesn't want to end up with a black eye in our reunion, he'll definitely zip up his mouth."

"Perhaps you should permanently zip yours, too," Andrew said.

Nicky chuckled anxiously then gulped visibly. "Uhm, anyway, I doubt reporters will mention you again."

"Doubt that," Neil said.

The video call lasted about twenty more minutes. Nicky had gone to the bathroom for a while, so Erik took over. He informed the couple on their visit to the day care center, without the personal commentary that Nicky had inserted, and added the nannies' suggestions about feeding Baby some soft foods. He also told Andrew that the staff had inquired about Baby's birth date for their reference purposes, which Nicky had evaded from answering by chattering about Europe to the staff. Again, the goalkeeper didn't comment on that.

The three of them had a pleasant talk in German. Andrew was in a mood to share daytime spots in their town--museum, art gallery, café bookstore, antique shop--then he gave his cousin-in-law a few directions, and even recommended a handful of restaurants. Erik took note of everything in his tablet. He had also told them Nicky had searched uncrowded places where they could bring Baby along for a stroll. Nicky got to speak with Andrew and Neil again for five minutes, asking their permission to shop for Baby, which Neil gave and Andrew didn't. In the end, the call went well, despite the tension between the cousins. That was already considered normal. Neil and Erik were so used to such occurences after many years of witnessing them on varying contexts.

A short while after, their teammates knocked on their door, inviting them for a few rounds of drinks in the hotel's bar. The couple changed clothes again. The striker went for a bluegreen jacket with a high collar, which could hide his hickeys, and stonewashed denims. Andrew opted for a cropped camouflage jacket over a black tee and black jeans. Their teammates were clad in smart casuals of dark colors, too.

Having secured a prime booth, they ordered many cocktails in advance. Few rounds equaled several with their teammates' vocab. They could all indulge, however, since they didn't have anything in the morning and their team meeting was pushed to after lunch the next day, when Coach Griffiths would positively be lecturing them for drinking. As the night deepened, most of the players' tongues loosened. They voiced their frustration over Friday night's match and drank shots in revenge. Andrew and Neil had slipped outside for a shared cigarette break, and when they came back, some of their teammates were already on their next round of drinks, complaining about girlfriends and boyfriends being difficult with the early summer schedule. The others talked merrily about family and hobbies. At the wee hours, they all returned to their suites.

In spite of alcohol in their system, Andrew and Neil weren't too mellowed down to sleep quickly. The striker caressed the soft covers languidly with his palm, the only sound in the bedroom, while imagining their cats' weight close to their bodies. He tilted his head to the side, studying Andrew's calm profile, devoid of lines and wrinkles, his face inches from his own on their pillow. He looked down on the goalkeeper's bare and well-defined chest. There were mild love scratches on his skin from Neil's nails. He watched his serene respiration, his stillness and contemplation, and remembered Baby--Baby who, last weekend, had slept between them on their bed and tended to roll to his side in his sleep. It was nine days since Baby had appeared in their lives, a day since he'd been introduced to the other Foxes' lives.

"Now they know," Neil said. The Foxes would conclude that Baby was theirs. Andrew's lashes flapped slowly. When he remained quiet, Neil continued. "I've never seen myself in a parent's shoes." Being a parent was a concept he couldn't soak up because it meant there was a universal definition he should accord himself with. His father and mother were his parents, but Neil's recollection of them was an overcast maze of pain.

He knew there was more to parenting than the label. There was supposed to be healthy affection or deep emotional connection or unconditional understanding between the parties involved. The Foxes gave those to him, and they had become his family forever. But they weren't the ones intimately responsible in rearing him up through his childhood.

"A child living under your roof doesn't make you a parent," Andrew said.

"You're right. So what does it make the two of us from here?"

It was a moment before Andrew answered him. "We're the baby's protectors. For as long as he'll need."

"Nothing more?"

The goalkeeper lolled his head to meet Neil's focus.

"Because if it lasts," Neil said, "I think there might be something more."

"Bases?"

"It's how it had been for me with the Foxes. I never asked for it, but it came. At the beginning, you're all just teammates. People I was simply supposed to live and play and go to school with. And then you'd become _my_ teammates. I never noticed until it had already happened that the team meant so much more. All of those Foxes who'd been with me _are_ family. Nicky has his points, you know."

"My cousin is an idealist."

"It's one of his strengths."

"Are we like him? We are realists. It's our strength."

"I'm just saying we may as well have to face the possibility that Baby can be something to us, no matter how inept we may be at this stuff with him."

"Is that what you believe will happen if _this stuff with him_ goes on?" Andrew said, his eyes vivid and glowing in the dim light of the room.

Neil felt his heart drum in his chest. "When this goes on, I believe you will never let him go. I believe you will never allow harm to befall him. I believe you will not give up on him and let him get lost. I believe you will want to make him safe and strong as he grows up. It doesn't feel like it now; it's just too soon; we don't know much about his roots," Neil said with an odd sensation in his chest, "but I believe that if we want to, Baby can also become ours."

Unblinkingly, Andrew looked at Neil, swallowing Neil's consciousness with the force of his eyes. This was Andrew with open feelings, Andrew confronting what had been haunting him inwardly, Andrew being honest--always honest--with Neil. And then he closed his eyes as his hand reached up to cup Neil's cheek. His touch was warm and heavy.

"That's a lot of beliefs."

"I just believe in you. In us."

The goalkeeper grunted. "Weren't you the one going on about us not being his daddies?"

The striker frowned. "Because we're not. Can you visualize Baby referring to us as his daddies?"

Eyes closed, Andrew frowned, too. "He can call you Neil, and he can call me Andrew."

"When he's speaking one or two syllables."

Even though they could talk about these likelihoods, they were both aware that nothing was concrete. Andrew and Neil had learned to live in the present, but with Baby under their wings, they would have to consider the future as well, beyond their Exy dreams. Having this conversation didn't mean all was settled concerning the boy. But it was a start--one step forward--into coping with their pasts and harmonizing the present with their future together. After watching Andrew's interactions with the baby, it had dawned on Neil that Andrew could possibly have a room for one more member in their home. And something akin to instinct told the striker that letting a baby into their lives wouldn't change what he and Andrew had now.

"I don't want him to experience what I did," whispered Andrew, his hand moving down to cup the crook of Neil's neck. "All those years."

With his blue eyes falling shut, overlapping images of brutal childhood flashed on Neil's mind. He put his hand over Andrew's, as he whispered back:

"Me, too."

A chirping from the goalkeeper's phone woke them up several hours later. Mid-morning light had flowed in from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, accenting the luxuriously modern interior of their hotel bedroom. They were in the same position they had fallen asleep in on the mattress, the end of the duvet draped low over their waists. Andrew had to shift further onto Neil's space to get his phone from the nightstand on the striker's side. He squinted as he checked his message.

"Who is it?" asked Neil in a rough voice.

Nuzzling Neil's ear, Andrew sleepily settled himself on him, both of them naked, chest-to-chest, cheek-to-cheek, as he handed him his phone so Neil could read the text for himself.

It was from Aaron, a meaningful message that Neil--and maybe Andrew, too--didn't quite expect of him. The twins' relationship had gotten better over the years, but they were still far from the type of brothers that regularly opened up with each other about their private lives and feelings. Surprisingly, the message sounded very much like an implicit acknowledgment of a new relative.

_Won't ask questions, but if you need guidance with your boy's health, just message me or call Katelyn anytime._


	5. Chapter Five

Three weeks and four cities. Playing, losing, winning, traveling, mingling. There'd been loads of similar combos in the past few years, and there would be countless more to follow. Every activity formed an agreeable pattern of a whole that their bodies had aligned with and absorbed. By the third week of this June, however, Neil was itching to call dibs on the next available day off and board the first flight home.

It wasn't because he was beginning to tire of the lifestyle of a Major League Exy striker, far from it actually; only that right now--especially right now--he didn't want to be away and let Andrew deal with _their_ complicated situation alone. It seemed that the rest of June would have the two of them working apart and start compromising the bubble of privacy which they had been trying to keep from being poked on by others despite the nature of their profession.

"Stacks of character references plus updated records should suffice," said the striker, quarter hour into the call, "shouldn't it? I mean, after the investigation." He could feel little spasms in his belly. Again.

Although the other party on the line had been wordless for several minutes, Neil was still reassured by the presence. Each dead air was as good as an uttered word. During their latest calls to each other, there had been many moments like this one: reflecting together, speaking only when the clouds on their minds had thinned, taking in each development, bridging the distance through their linked understanding.

Phone to his ear, he covered his closed eyes with his other forearm while he was reclining on his back on the bench. Half of their teammates were currently working on hourly drills, and when they were done down the court, Neil and his batch were to do theirs before a half scrimmage.

"They think a timely and personal disclosure could also work in our favor," said Andrew. His voice was clear, his tone even and steady, never baring a hint of the weight of the matter at hand.

"Personal... So they're pretty much advising the two of us to stake our claim in public. With our very mouths." A move which was likely proposed to beat the conceivable concerns of the system regarding their histories with the law, both for the ones true and the word of mouth. It was using their names, their present fame to an advantage, to rally in support and back up credence through publicity. There was just a glitch, though. Andrew and Neil were the type of clients averse to detailed exposure, more so when a child they wished to shelter quietly would be drawn into the spotlight.

"So they say."

"Hm." Neil's forehead wrinkled. "What did you say?"

"That they better work their damn fees fast. Or they won't like it." That legal office would not like it one bit if Andrew became upset and supposed them to be failing him through the entire process.

The striker breathed deeply. "I guess we have to agree." At any rate, it'd be inescapable news, especially these coming days. The media had already been sniffing right on it. He got a feeling he'd develop another stomachache by just thinking about it.

Because for nearly three weeks, Andrew Minyard had not been playing; Neil Josten was playing; almost everyone called him a freaking "JJ" recently; the audience were speculating on anything; a secret injury was theorized; there was a break-up rumor between the goalkeeper and the striker in the Exy sphere; the Foxes were worried; the baby was still in a medical facility to clear a series of authorized health checks; Nicky and Erik visited the place frequently to see him, after they canceled their trips to other states; a case was opened for the boy after Andrew came back home; with said case, _Josten_ and _Minyard_ were unmistakably printed on official paper and other screening documents. Their last names appearing on the same file would never be a coincidence.

"We have to complete a local prep course next month," Andrew said.

"We have to further explain this to Coach and Ursula," Neil said.

"We have to meet fucking soon," Andrew said, with more expression.

Regardless of how serious their conversation was, a tiny _tiny_ smile couldn't help curving up Neil's mouth upon hearing that. Staying up late in a large bed alone for the past couple weeks was doing it to him, he told himself. The striker bit his bottom lip and let out an almost-whisper.

"Yeah, Andrew. We have to meet and fuck soon."

There was another dead air, which conveyed significantly. Lip nerves tingling, the striker put his forearm down his side and sat up on the bench fluidly. He found their backliner Sato was also on the phone at the adjacent bench while absently watching their teammates on their drills below. The running shouts of assistant coaches were easy to hear from up this level of the stadium, mixing with the noises of shuffling shoes, rackets, and balls hitting all over the court.

Then Andrew replied to him. "Soon," he told Neil, sounding impossibly close as though his mouth was pressed on the striker's ear, making the tail of his spine tingle at the promise.

At times, it was surreal how, when it was meant to be so, Andrew could stir him up easily in any setting. How a single touch of his hand could ignite Neil and leave him flaming, how an ordinary word could feel profound when it escaped his mouth, how the smallest sound from him could completely overload Neil's head. Sometimes, their kisses still felt like their first on the Fox Tower's rooftop and their second one when Andrew pushed Neil down to the floor of their dorm room. They were experienced with each other, yet did things again and again together that could still feel new.

He nodded to himself, relishing their quiet and intimate minute, relieved that Andrew seemed centered now compared to how he was a few weeks back. Things were moving forward, and did they move swiftly. _It's really happening,_ Neil thought. _It's happening._

And as though the goalkeeper had heard him through his own mind, he told Neil on the phone with a solidly verifying voice, "It's happening."

A beat of insight, then the striker lowered his head. "We can have him."

He could visualize Andrew's face as the latter gave him his answer. "And we will."

When the call ended, he put his phone back inside the netted pocket of his gym bag, then stretched his legs out for his turn at the drills below. Arms crossed over his chest, Coach Griffiths was eyeing him from a few bleachers down, having apparently sensed that the striker's caller just now had been their absent goalkeeper. Their head coach was aware that Andrew Minyard left Atlanta right after a Wednesday game to personally handle urgent matters, which their teammates still thought were related to Aaron. They hadn't been updated that Andrew Minyard was rather immersed with--when the court proceeded with the submitted application shortly--a would-be Minyard.

The striker walked down the steps and stopped beside Coach Griffiths. Neither had to lead one into the topic. They already knew what they were on about.

"Later. With Ursula around."

Getting the idea, Coach Griffiths scowled and grunted his agreement. Then Neil jogged down past the wall and entered the court. His teammates greeted him with a jolly, "Ready, JJ?" The striker duly gave them his finger. Then he'd gone on to practice with them through endurance and control drills followed by a tough scrimmage, his muscles working through the established routine, even though his brain was still ruminating over the state he and Andrew and their growing home were in.

That Monday morning about three weeks back--after Aaron's text to his twin--was the onset. Or rather, it was Aaron's text that became the unconscious yet potent catalyst of the eventuality, which had been awaiting action from Andrew and Neil since they took in the baby. If the other Foxes had found out the content of Aaron's message, they would've been amazed while stifling the deadly urge to tease the hell out of them, because _finally_ the twins were communicating with each other the way any concerned brothers should. Even Neil deemed it a mark of optimism between the two siblings, though he'd never speak of this observation.

 _However_ , for Andrew, who'd never learned to delight in open joys, it was a different story.

Neil had watched as the goalkeeper had held his phone in a rigid clutch during brunch afterward, studying his twin's message with half-lidded and distant eyes. He was staring down at it, with his sight elsewhere in his head. He was that kind of Andrew then, the one that was close to Neil's side, but with his psyche drifting in the wind. This time, the striker didn't call out his name, giving Andrew his mental space. His food had been barely touched. A short while later, he smoked more cigarettes than he usually would in a single instance, then drank a couple shots of vodka in the bar of their suite, both of which he wouldn't typically do before meeting up Coach Griffiths with the rest of the team. He hadn't spoken a word at all even when it was time to go to the lounge reserved for all of them.

That afternoon's meeting was just what they would expect following a lost match: in what was dubbed a "grizzly bear's tough love mode" by retirees, Coach Griffiths was grimacing and loud and quite severe in his speech; so the whole team was shot by another round of his blunt assessment and opinions of their previous game and scrimmage, adding to Friday's initial reviews by their assistant coaches.

The pressure to meet this season's goals was high. Still, honesty was welcome. There was some back talk to the older man, a little _you-could-haves_ to others, blending into the exchange from the moodies in the couches, then some side-arguments among teammates on styles and techniques. Many of their players were powered up by crude words with sizzling energy. Pride was what it set ablaze, driving them to prove their the critics wrong about them. Those who didn't fully share this coping mechanism were also motivated by further incentives.

In this team, everybody was often frank with one other, but nobody took any of the harsh criticisms on their performance personally. Nobody really held grudges, as it would consume extra energy; although now and then, there'd be colorful cussing and shoving and spontaneous wrestling stunts over other contentious things--such as which character should get snuffed next in a mystery TV series that most of them followed, or which personality they sided with in a public feud, or how lame one teammate's formal attire had been in a televised event--that they generally condoned.

In truth, their people had a go with these things for the sake of amusement during rigorous training sessions and discussions that usually lasted hours; nonetheless, they could still be chilling with one another later, just chatting about one's pet snakes or collection of swords, as though nothing had happened. Now and then, Neil would be a part of a few scuffles. Even Andrew had his roles in occasional tussles...that the team kept from happening again with him involved, as much as possible.

After Coach's turn in front of them, which ended in berating their sloppy slips on eating habits and self-discipline, Henry Xing walked in to quickly update the players on their June sched, informing them of changes due to a major sponsor's demand. He also briefed them on a possible promotional bid for the second half of the year if they won more games. Then he reminded them of two TV guestings this month in different cities. As one of their on-the-road publicists, Henry organized a list for a group of three and a group of four on the spot for said gigs. Andrew and Neil were outrightly opted out of those guestings after the Grau incident; the two were not inclined in being on them in the first place.

"Okay. Looks like some of those who won't be on TV have a one-hour appearance in a local children's hospital. It's social responsibility time for this team. That's for tomorrow noon, before the flight back to our camp in Atlanta." Saving the most fascinating item of the day's meeting for last, Henry finished reading his notes, leaned back in his seat, and looked at Andrew pointedly.

"The management received a call," the publicist started.

When nobody else prompted on Henry after a minute, Andrew said flatly, "You always receive calls."

"Uh-uh." Henry shook his head, then smiled mischievously. "Never from a posh fashion mag before."

"Posh fashion mag?" echoed Shayne, one of their female strikers, who was currently perched on the back of the sofa, her thigh near Neil's face, the tip of her shoe poking his knee.

"You heard that right," said Henry, his brown eyes fixed at the goalkeeper. "Contacted us to offer a premium modeling gig. Because for their July-August issue, _Soirée US_ wants _our_ Andrew."

Total hush ensued in the private lounge.

Henry added, "There's also a VIP invitation to an NY gala they're co-promoting in August."

Everyone else in the room turned their heads to Andrew, including Neil. Though except Neil, the team gawked at the goalkeeper, eyes raking him up and down, like he was suddenly a new species of a living creature on this planet. Andrew ignored the foolish gesture against his person and rested his ankle over his opposite knee, shifting beside Neil, appearing every bit bored by the conversation already.

Brows knitted, Neil looked around the lounge. The publicist cleared his throat. Once, twice. Even then, the team's focus was still set on Andrew, some mouths open, some eyes wide. The bastards, that their teammates were, didn't bother hiding their dumbfounded mugs. They had probably just one sentiment going on in their heads: _fashion modeling_ and _Andrew Minyard_ shouldn't ever be slotted in the same sentence. Their imagination was trying to get the picture and associate what typical poses and projections they knew, and the mental pictures were getting unbelievable that they were just stupefied.

"Well, Ms. Stegner isn't fond of their artsy idea for you. Doubtlessly, you, too. Damn, though," the publicist emphasized. "The intended creative fee is _a lot_ for each shot, I tell you." Andrew narrowed his gaze at him. Henry cocked an eyebrow. The whole team, management, and support staff had long been aware of Andrew's stubborn policy on his own publicity. "In any case, we were ready to turn them down at the end of the week."

"Did they say why?" Neil asked. He was not surprised nor bewildered, only curious.

"I think we all know why."

The striker stared at the publicist.

"I see," said Shayne, nudging Neil with her shoe.

"See what?" he asked.

"Is Andrew to glare and punch lenses in a designer jacket or something for this glossy?" she asked Henry instead of answering Neil.

"I think that's what they're basically planning. We haven't received the _creative_ details of their proposed shoot yet. Only that Andrew may be on the cover _and_ central story with a female model," said Henry.

"With Wilhelmina," Burton supplied.

"A cover with her?" Irving intoned with his deep voice. "That's grand noise potential."

"Will be impressive," Shayne scoffed, "just simply impossible." Their teammates simpered, shook their heads, and murmured at the epic folly of whoever proposed that Andrew did a fashion gig _of all people_.

"That call comes if someone very popular mentions your name dotingly in a string of interviews," said Henry. "And I take it your silence is as good as an absolute N and O. As always. At least, you're informed." The publicist then eyed Neil meaningfully. "You know, in case it comes up somewhere else. By the way, it's up and trending on the good old Internet. Thanks to your lovely Exy fans." When Neil didn't react to that statement, Henry sighed and said slowly, " _Jealous Josten_."

Shayne snickered. Burton cackled behind them. "Man, how accurate is that. It even rhymes! J and J, see," said Bastard #01. "JJ!"

Neil frowned at once. "I'm not jealous."

The publicist faintly slanted him a disbelieving look. It was the striker's turn to receive everybody's attention for a second. Unlike with Andrew earlier, however, they were giving him the snorts and sniggers. Just because he deflected the Wilhelmina topic and mouthed off at Grau right after shouldn't equate to jealousy from his part.

"I'm not," he repeated, his brows furrowing further.

"If you say so," said Zia in a manner that said _Yeah, right, buddy._ The rest of the team shrugged.

"What are the symptoms of a jelly, anyway?" asked Deirdre. "I'm suspecting my sugar is one lately."

"I dunno with the rest of you, but with us? Aggressive sex it is," said Kelly with a neutral tone and a neutral face.

"Nice for you," Elkin said bitterly, shaking his head. "With mine, it's a damn iceberg-cold treatment."

And so the team digressed for about one minute, before Henry scratched his head and cut in to do his recap. Neil wasn't listening anymore. Was he jealous? He considered what they'd just spouted. He and Andrew were intense the night before, but he didn't think it was due to some sort of subliminal jealousy. He looked at Andrew. The latter was unmoved, which was never new. He didn't even act like the publicist was still in front of them.

When the meeting was wrapped up, the team took their quick break, watched a recorded match of their next opponent, brainstormed with their head coach and assistant coaches, then watched today's live game on TV. Thereafter, dinner was delivered to the lounge. Each selection was according to their prescribed diet plan. They tuned in to local evening news while eating around in rearranged sofas and couches.

If Andrew had somewhat been preoccupied the whole day in spite of several distractions present, then he was definitely discomposed after dinner. And Neil could tell it was because of one disturbing news segment they'd caught. They were just about to leave the lounge in a minute when it broadcasted, highlighting the story of an abused child in a foster home, who at the tender age of nine had run away in the middle of the night and had since been missing for a month.

To their teammates, the goalkeeper still came across as usually laconic and functional through their cardio workout at the gym later. Only Neil could see the anger simmering in him, flexing his muscles, rushing in his blood, and boiling beneath his skin. His hazel eyes were cold at nothing in particular, his fists faintly shaking as his feet pounded hard against the floor at every jump with his rope.

A shower and a drink and a cigarette later, Andrew was settled enough to speak with his cousin; however, the video call wasn't as placid as it could be before they went to bed. Nicky and Erik had asked who would look after Baby when their two-week stay at the athletes' apartment was over. Andrew and Neil were silent for a very long moment, their minds suddenly racing through winding courses, staring back at the married couple on the goalkeeper's tablet, practically frozen. Their mirrored reaction was instantly noted. Nicky, who's unquestionably caring to his family, broke the silence first by saying that they'd actually like to be with the baby longer. Even Erik picked up on the vibe and, without hesitation, added that he and his husband didn't mind prolonging their vacation at their place until July.

"Nicky and I can still meet the rest of the Foxes next month since there's going to be a reunion," the German said.

"Yeah, yeah." Nicky nodded quickly. "All of us are gonna be there together."

"So everything works out." Erik was smiling sincerely. "Right, love?"

His husband beamed. "Certainly."

The striker wanted to argue that things wouldn't just work out that conveniently, and that nothing was certain yet.

Realization was sinking into their bones. How he and Andrew had been taking things so far with the baby was just minor arrangement. The initial stun was wearing off on them; reality was kicking in full force, after just lying down there since that minute in the parking lot when they found the boy. The two of them had been too caught up with their past demons to actually make the great leap. And now doubts were creeping in. Neil estimated himself. He hadn't been good at this. He didn't know if he would be ever good at this.

Tuesday didn't help Andrew's mood much. Almost the whole morning had their team on a four-hour training at the court, monitored by a couple of fitness coaches. By eleven-thirty, eight players, including the goalkeeper and Neil, were checked up then dispatched to the children's hospital for a short meet and greet. Henry accompanied them, with a few other members of the support staff to coordinate with security and to document the visit for press release.

It was a fulfilling activity that Neil was inclined to do frequently, even off-cam. Meeting and inspiring youth with passion for the sport. In one of the recovery wards, many boys and girls expressed their desire to play in school once they were healed and discharged from the hospital. Their ambition reminded him of his younger self, motivating him further to work better at their next game.

The couple were seated by the wall near the door, briefly conversed with a female nurse who's giving an enthusiastic kid his meds at the corner bed. Neil talked to the kid, while Andrew listened with visible interest, having seemingly forgotten his earlier preoccupation. On the other side of the room, their teammates were giving autographs and telling Exy stories. Every fifteen minutes, their pictures and videos were captured by the PR members.

Then another nurse knocked on the open door, glancing at Andrew and Neil. "Excuse me," he told them quickly, before addressing his colleague. "Helena." The female nurse sat up. "Ms. Thomas has been calling your station. It's about Baby Doe."

_Baby Doe--_

It was like Neil's chair had vanished under him at how his heart sank to his stomach. But the incidental impact to him was nothing on the goalkeeper--Andrew who, in a blink of an eye, was as motionless and detached as a soulless statue right beside him. Neil watched as those hazel eyes darkened, trained on the hallway where Nurse Helena disappeared to. The striker's insides twisted into a tight knot. Suddenly his heart was hammering his ribs. Looking at Andrew like this, it was as though he was looking at a dead Andrew that was breathing emptily. Like this, Neil couldn't touch him, but he leaned in carefully and, an inch away from his ear, whispered tenderly:

"It's not..." _You, and--_ "It's not _him_." A heartbeat and a pulse, then Andrew blinked slowly and gazed back at Neil with an infinite depth in his eyes. "It's not him."

It felt like a thousand falling stars had crossed the universe before Andrew's body connected to himself. But in a split-second that followed, Neil saw something on his face that made it difficult to breathe. In a soundless moment, it was there: on the twitch of a fair brow, the downward flicker of eyes, the fall of his lids, the subtle flutter of lashes, the obscure movement of his lips. Emotion and Andrew, in a flash, presented only to Neil. The goalkeeper scanned the hospital room impassively, back in the immediate scene of reality. Their hands were casually on their sides, their fingers brushing in feathery touches below their chairs with each shifting movement.

Next morning at dawn in Atlanta, they were facing each other and sharing a thin blanket hanging on their shoulders in their room. Sitting together right by the closed bay window, Andrew spoke in a firm voice.

"I'm going back home tonight."

Palm on the spotless glass, Neil rubbed his thumb against the cold surface. "You don't trust them. Those people in position who haven't experienced what it's like to be lost in the unforgiving world. Some will stick their noses in his welfare."

So Andrew would go back to deal with them, to prove himself and Neil capable, despite the burn that every step might set off from Andrew's memories--of appointments, cases, enquiries, investigations, judgments, and waiting--because there was no other way for the baby to be freely protected by both men.

Aaron's text message had been a trigger because he mattered to Andrew. Memories haunted Andrew because Aaron was his twin. And Neil could imagine that Andrew might have recalled a distant time when he desperately needed such care, no matter how oblique, such a real message from someone important, likely when Andrew was vulnerably young, when he was entrenched in a procedure that adults had implemented on a child like him, when he was still unaware that he had a brother somewhere else whom he could have gotten a life with.

 _I won't be like them_ , he once said. His hopes had been raised repeatedly in the past; his hopes had crashed down repeatedly in the past. Here he was now, in a position to give, and he would give right. Andrew would never be a person to let the baby down.

He nodded at Neil. "You don't like them, too."

The striker lolled his head against the curtain. Half of his face was illuminated in a pale-bluish glow, lightening his scars. The other half was cast in mild shadow, making his vivid eyes stand out. Seeing his soft reflection on the glass, he also recalled a few things. "I don't," Neil said. "Only, we cannot bypass the system from here. He needs his identity."

Then he stared back at Andrew apologetically, on the verge of saying _I'm sorry_ aloud once more. The goalkeeper didn't want to hear it, but Neil was feeling partly responsible for the poignant effect of what they'd heard in the hospital. He felt that, as well. The baby shouldn't just be Baby anymore. Neil would make sure of it, too, from now on. He knew very well how it was like to dread a certain name. He would fight his incompetency, and told himself repeatedly that he could do it. Andrew was with him.

The chocolate-colored curtains had been parted wide in the middle. The striker gazed up at the fading darkness, at the growing daylight on the the skyline beyond over the greens of the park across their team's residence and the distant vista of concrete and steel buildings. In their years at Palmetto, Andrew could take whoever he'd chosen under his wing without question. But with the baby, circumstances were tricky and different. Which was why the goalkeeper was riled up during that video call. Nicky, although clueless to the situation for the time being, had been right all along. As much as his cousin and Neil wanted to keep the baby under a protective mantle away from the savageness of the world, they couldn't hide him forever. They couldn't limit him in one place.

"I kind of wish we have a time machine, so we can bring us back to when processes were simple."

"Influenced by that boring book the geek left you?" the goalkeeper said coolly.

Neil's lips quirked, remembering the thick volume on history and literature he'd been given as a souvenir after Kevin's graduation. It was quite a period before Neil had finished reading it, after Kevin's obsessive annotations. "Somehow, the book's interesting. More so in some pages. Knights and their lot's era and legends. King Arthur's supposedly magical return is something to think about."

Andrew's hand lightly stroked Neil's forearm. "You won't really wish to travel that far back in time."

"No Exy in ancient courtyards," said Neil, muddled by the idea. "No more games for us."

"Can't have that, can we?"

"Or the team will make us pay back millions in penalty." And between them, only the goalkeeper could move his money freely. After a moment, Neil inched closer to him, their knees and shins touching. "I can't go back with you."

The striker would have to stay with their team for games, else he'd risk sending out the wrong signal to the Moriyamas. Neil Josten couldn't just go off the radar in the Exy Court, unless he was injured or on permitted holiday or on legitimate retirement, which wasn't happening anytime soon. Moreover, having two starting players absent for a handful of games would downright have Coach Griffiths transforming into a full-on Cyclops. As it was, he and Ursula were to grill Andrew--and surely Neil, too--after the evening match.

"No, you can't leave," Andrew said. "Nothing changes. You still decide with me."

Warmth welling up in his chest, the striker gave him a small smile. "The press will feast on us again."

The corner of Andrew's lips pulled. "Have them guessing for a while. Your great mouth will take care of it sometime later."

Neil looked at him suspiciously. "Is that a compliment or what?"

"It's the truth."

Gentle sunlight were already bathing them and their whole room at the team's pad when Andrew moved silently, letting the end of the blanket fall from his shoulder, as he got into Neil's space and pressed his cold lips on him, warming each other like that, their foreheads close together. When he pulled back, just a shallow breath away, Neil exhaled to him shakily.

"We're not ready," he whispered. It was another truth.

"We're not meant to be ready."

"But..."

Their eyes connected expressively. Andrew nodded. Both of them, without words, understanding.

Six points over the opponent's score, the team won Wednesday's game. The stadium was deafening once the time double-zeroed, thousands and thousands of spectators whooping their favorites' names, drowning one another, some booing, others howling their throats out in glee at the significant lead, a hundred or so banners waving like flames in the wind, team colors undulating, lights continuously flashing. Among the buoyant cheers and many other shrieked names, _Josten_ and _Minyard_ were screamed feverishly. This was Exy, the way Neil breathed it in. Every single game, he and Andrew were living the dream.

Coach Griffiths was baring his teeth, beaming like a proud old predator of the jungle, very much pleased that his pack had seized another mound of fresh meat by beating the other team soundly. He clapped the players on the back for their work, letting out that rough laughter. The man was a happy grizzly on this day, all right. Then one of his goalkeepers, whose well-regarded performance was extra top-notch tonight, tapped him on the shoulder woodenly and cocked his blond head to a door where it led to the back. And just like that, Neil saw Coach Griffiths's grin down at Andrew turn stiff in an instant. The head coach's joy wasn't quite saved, even when the goalkeeper's spectacular blocks were on the playback of many highlights above on the enormous screen of the stadium.

About an hour of carrying out interviews and related work, the head coach met the goalkeeper and Neil in a smaller office, farther from the one catered to the press and the main meeting room. Inside, Ursula was already seated at the glass table, there in front of her open laptop with three smart phones lined up within her right hand's reach. They were expecting bad news.

When they heard what Andrew was going to do and that he'd already arranged for his plane ticket, Coach Griffiths wasn't in a victorious mood anymore. He was barking out, "The hell of a shit are you on about?" here and "Have you any goddamn idea how goddamn long some goddamn weeks you will be goddamn gone from our goddamn games?" there, plus "This is why you big boys in this hectic industry should employ your own professional assistants!" and ended it with an "I don't buy that excuse, so spit out what's really up with you two."

"Like what we've told you, Coach. It's a family matter," said Neil, still keeping the specifics to themselves. "Andrew has to go."

In comparison to the man, Ursula had been prim and collected in asking questions. Subsequently, she listed down the resulting media hype and sponsor queries and PR inconveniences of the looming absence. Then, true to being a shrewd business-minded person, she said, "Fine. Have this leeway, then give us _our_ leeway." Leaning back in his seat, Coach Griffiths folded his arms over his chest, scrutinizing Andrew's inscrutable expression.

Like the case with their other teammates, Andrew and Neil agreed on their contracts to have Ursula and her handpicked staff members to co-manage their individual brands and safeguard their endorsement offers. That was in addition to their main job of handling the team's collective image to secure and increase profitability to the whole sport group. It was much practical this way, since neither man could be assed into promoting his own image through some other way; they'd rather dedicate the time it'd use up to themselves. Still, being directed by the same band of people could be unnerving during the bad days.

Neil watched their manager and Andrew stare at each other for several minutes, as though they were communicating via telepathy. Then the goalkeeper stood up and told her uninterestedly, "Not the other magazine."

Ursula scrunched up her pointed nose and puffed. "Of course not," she said, sounding affronted. "You'll kill us for that." She went on to type fast on her keyboard. Her middle phone rang up immediately. Without another word, the goalkeeper left the room together with Neil. Andrew J. Minyard, elusive star athlete of US Exy, just complied to headline when he returned. It was a fair yet pricey trade.

Weeks later, Neil was yet again in front of Ursula and their head coach for a much required follow-up discussion. This time, however, Ursula had brought in two other PR personnel to the meeting, including one of the team's sponsor agents on phone conference. All dressed in business casuals--except Neil who was wearing the team's gray sports jacket and pants--they were seated around the dark narra table, elbows and arms on the polished surface, as if anticipating a grim decision from the board inside the room where magenta wallpapers made it slightly feel like evening. There was a mild vintage ambiance to the place, what with the faint yellow lights from the bronze fixtures attached the wall. Whoever designed the meeting room indeed got such a quaint taste in mind for sports-oriented discussions.

Coffee and tea were distributed by a young support staff with a big smile on his face, the only person that had one at that moment. Henry was present as well, and he attempted to break the automatic discomfort in the air by turning on the striker first.

"So," he said, "your Foxy pal Reynolds talked about _Jealous Josten_ at a designers' ball."

"She did?"

As one would expect, he was perennially one day behind any personal hoopla about himself, save for pure sports news on tallies and stats. Since reading the baby posts, the striker hadn't logged in yet to the Foxes' message board, and the Foxes didn't mention the blasted moniker on their text messages; they only sent their worries and support over Andrew and Neil's present situation.

But Neil wished he knew this news right away. Allison was adept with the press, never shy, never tactless. Even so, Allison could sometimes be forthright with a mic on, too. Neil didn't want the media to pick on her because of him.

"Show me." A moment of tapping, and then the publicist handed him his tablet.

 Glamorous Allison, with her shiny golden curls and glittery face and a body-fitting garnet dress that her magnificence created herself, appeared as totally regal as her name. The angle of the broadcast video had caught the grand hall behind her, the blinding chandeliers and a scatter of guests in impeccable black-tie attire. She was with another woman, who was also clad in a complex and expensive-looking outfit. A different female voice could be heard on the background, conversationally interviewing the prominent designer and her companion about their dresses first and the event's success after, till the great segue and shift of focus.

"Queen Alli, many are aware that you've remained a staunch Exy supporter all these years. As Andrew Minyard's former teammate, does his no-show in their recent matches concern you?"

"Not really," was Allison's immediate and pert answer, with one quirk of an eyebrow and a twist of shimmering lips. "He's gonna return to smash balls anyway."

Neil couldn't help a small smile at that.

"Okay. Uh, surely you've known about Wilhelmina Vellpérse's admiration for him. Have you any passing encounters with her? Some girl talks? You know, since she's also huge in fashion."

Allison hummed for a second. "I read some stuff, yes. But no, Wilhelmina and I haven't really worked with each other yet."

"May we ask, though. Is there truth to Jealous Josten?"

"You tell me," she said wittily. "About that, I'm pretty sure nobody said and admitted anything from the start."

Nope, Allison wouldn't unleash her own intrigue on the prospect of Neil being possibly jealous. Not there on TV, because she had already called the striker a little over a week ago to personally check if he really was. She did, after a chain of texts about JJ, prior to asking, "So, what are you two like when you're having a lovers' spat?" during the call.

"Not interested in the buzz that's popping up on forums lately?" Allison was prodded some more, the interviewer seemingly well-acquainted with her.

She smirked elegantly. "To some extent, I am."

"To some extent," repeated the interviewer.

The designer gave the camera an _Oh, come on!_ look that she still pulled off as a classy expression. "Well, only because something has finally overthrown Kevin Day's _No Comment_ among the top trending searches. Let's admit neither of those are planned. On the other hand, it's just nice that Josten's the one getting loud out there, so to speak." She quirked her brow again, like she was certain Kevin was watching the interview at that particular moment. "No digs intended."

Upon hearing her response, Neil rubbed his nape, like he'd just gotten a prickly itch beneath his skin. The irony of the matter, indeed. He was trying to lie low a bit; at the same, however, he was unknowingly helping against his own intention.

"And that's quite remarkable, eh," said the interviewer.

"Why, Annie, don't you agree?" Allison's brows slightly creased above her smile, as though people had been missing the obvious point all this time. _Right._ The Foxes would eagerly wait when it was Kevin's turn to mention Allison in public, and they would eagerly read the banters on their message board afterward.

"How about you, Miss Smith? Got any remarks as an advertiser?"

The woman beside Allison chuckled. "I personally think it's the--what was that?--the phrase about him, uh, possibly carrying a..."

The unseen interviewer supplied amusingly, "A baby or two."

"Yes! So out of the blue, so defensive yet wacky. The whole retort is adorably biting." The advertiser glanced at Allison. "Just saying."

"Credit to his last interview then," said the interviewer.

"I agree with Neil Josten, though," said Allison. Subtly, her graceful poise was tinged with a little seriousness as she added, "Their lives, their own. When they really open up is when we listen."

"Speaking up for the lives of famous personalities? Like you."

Allison beamed and winked at the camera. "You can say that."

Having her golden name in the fashion industry herself, Allison also got her part of regular public pressure and a few rumors, too. Just last year, there had been a speculation about her marriage when her husband wasn't sighted during the entire launch of her fall and winter collection.

The interviewer thanked the stylish women for their time. The video ended during a new spiel. Neil sat back. Henry was expecting a reaction from him.

"It's cool," the striker said, passing back the publicist's tablet. Allison had been pretty tame and craftily tough at the same time. After watching her interview, there was a fusion of amusement and delight inside Neil in knowing that wherever the Foxes were, they had one another's backs in their own ways, without giving a real damn to what people thought of them. He sipped his coffee, hoping that he and Andrew--and the baby--could attend Allison's birthday party this year and join everybody in their long-awaited summer reunion.

"Told you, it's your Foxy pal," crooned Henry, smiling.

With a vague expression, Ursula clasped her hands over her stomach in a contemplative manner, examining Neil. It was unnecessary for any of them to tell him that the management was apprehensive of Andrew's reliability this season, that sponsors were concerned with continuing his endorsement if this went on, that viewership and attendance to their games should be considered, and so on. It was a given that Coach Griffiths wanted the goalkeeper in their matches ASAP, and that he'd been calling frequently to remind him that he better be showing up in their games for July.

At least, they weren't left that much in the dark during the past few weeks. Andrew had eventually provided the meat-and-potatoes: that there was a series of legal appointments he had to attend, a bit of personal consultations with a family attorney, and that the subject was partly a Minyard business he _must_ oversee. Afterward, he gave his word that the management would be more than satisfied with him when he returned.

"I'm beginning to assume there is a crime we should cover. And the family stuff is just an opaque alibi."

"Andrew is busy with a family matter," said Neil.

"All right." The head coach's eyes were big for a second. "Heard that a hundred times."

"He called us a while ago and said you'd give us further details," said Henry.

Coach Griffiths supped his coffee audibly. "May I remind you and him that we're not an agency here that can easily grant leaves for those reasons? Just please do confirm he's not soul searching on the side, too, out of some relationship dilemma you two are having. Like what a bunch of online gossip were suggesting."

Neil scowled. " _No_."

"Good. A showbiz issue doesn't suit you two." The man was about to drink from his cup again, when he stopped midway to frown at his hot coffee. "The hell have you even come up with that tart on that interview? But hands down, you're correct. The bees shouldn't ask you about the standard stuff. Because honeymoon and babies? _Andrew?_ And you?" He shook his head, grimacing, and brought the cup to his mouth.

Ursula sent the head coach an annoyed look, then she stared intently at Neil, waiting for the elaboration they were sitting there for. Neil stared back. Without inflection, he said, "Andrew and I have a baby."

Coach Griffiths choked on his coffee and bit his tongue in the process.


	6. Chapter Six

Neil realized he and Andrew had been surprising--if not astonishing--people in differing extents this month. The meeting had burned up about one and a half hours of mental energy, and all throughout, the staff present were giving him bemused glances and small head shakes every few minutes. By now, there was an identifiable tendency to this that he'd rather not name at the moment.

In the end, they were more or less reasonable, understanding of the athletes' personal business overlaying with the professional. Ursula had just said, "You sure are two of the most challenging standouts in our line of business. Okay. We do our jobs. You do yours." She paused for a moment, her chin on the back of her hand, eyeing Neil critically like she was appraising his value and, by proxy, Andrew's as well. "You are a winning package that we signed up for, so you do understand why we have high demands and expectations. You better both be playing and committing to win like the others as you ought to, _despite_ your private affairs."

"Now, guys and girls, once things settle down, have the entire team make us all happy," said the sponsor agent through the conference. "Dominate the division and rock the playoffs. We'd all love a bonus for the winter holidays, yeah?"

"Who wouldn't?" gruffly said Coach Griffiths, tapping on his phone that had been beeping within the last hour, most likely corresponding with the fitness coaches. "One new rule: no more sudden babysitting runs. I need my whole team intact all the time unless there's an injury we cannot help." In fairness to the man, he didn't comment on his two players' having a baby following his choking. Perhaps, his tongue still hurt. Or he was still processing the information, and it'd take him till next day to grasp it.

"But boy does this mean we're gonna be buried in deeper mails from the audience, then add the bugging calls and queries from just anyone curious," said one of the PR guys. "Honestly, we're like an entertainment agency sometimes."

"Well, attention is a double-edged sword. Curiosity increases attendance and reception along the way," said Henry.

"Before bigots begin to get in the way. Some of them are still thick out there, ya see. All that hankering for the manufactured images of male jocks and their families."

"Nah, they can't mess with us. Also, bigots watch and buy tickets, too. Money is money."

"Right, since they wanna boo players in person."

"If only to boo. The league and orgs should pitch in to double security in every game. Up the guarding so players avoid hearing the crazies after the matches and crossing the gates and end up with awful lawsuits and rounds of suspension, like a team-wide one. You remember that incident when...."

With an empty cup and an indistinct mask on his face, Neil had quietly watched the present PR staff's deviating chat. He had just texted Andrew a minute ago, saying the discussion went fine. Another minute had stretched inside the meeting room, with the members evidently no longer too interested in him. They were on their phones while yakking about a different sport already, so Neil got up on his feet, craving the next cardio session with the rest of the team.

"I think this is your meeting now," the striker said.

"Yes," Ursula said, her body facing Henry. She darted him a warning glance before saying, "Thank you, Neil."

A few moments after Neil had stepped out of the meeting room, his phone rang. One hand in his jacket's front pocket, the other around the phone to his ear, he walked down the hall with fluid strides and jogged down the stairs that led to the cafeteria. At this hour, he could still get his pre-training snack--a banana and peanut butter and low-fat milk--and sit where the whole team was having its afternoon break. It was probably a break where there'd be some more shocking announcement from him.

"Coach almost bled his mouth with coffee," he said, by way of hello.

"Too bad," Andrew said dispassionately. "Would've been nice if he actually did." On his background on the line were the faint sounds of feet hitting the treadmill.

"Have you watched Allison's recent interview?"

"Nicky had me watch it on the message board yesterday."

"Uploaded by who?"

"Dan."

"Didn't check what they thought after?"

"Was on Nicky's tablet."

"Hm. We should log back in tonight. Contribute a little."

"Yeah, their ceaseless texts have been interrupting my remaining peace, in addition to wasting my battery," said the goalkeeper.

Neil snorted, turning to a corner, nodding at a passing support staff member. "I bet Kevin's texts don't."

"Because the fuck still keeps calling every fucking day." Of course, Kevin would, even if Andrew must have long told him to shut up and bother his own team's goalkeepers. "He's worse than Coach Bear during his breaks."

"Sweet," Neil said wryly.

The prompt voice mail he got from his fellow striker, right after Andrew's first missed game, was an expressive and articulate, "Where _is_ Andrew?" followed by a crisp, "He's not answering me; is he in _trouble_?" and punctuated by a curt list, "Injury? Sickness? Fight?"

A couple of days later that week, when the Foxes had all been informed of the circumstances through a group message, Kevin texted _Are you sure the both of you can handle this now with the season going on?_ And just last night he'd sent _For Exy's sake, you need to start hiring your own private staff! These aren't the Class I days anymore! Want recommendations?_ Neil replied that for Exy's sake, Kevin should have put his back into his most recent game because these weren't the Class I days anymore. The resulting response of _Go to hell_ was so predictable that Neil just sent a nice _You first_.

Amused, Neil could already visualize it; the thrill of facing Kevin and Thea and their team in the playoffs. Andrew would get even with his irritating calls by shutting the goal against him. On second thought, Neil might take Kevin up on that offer for recommendations, since he and Thea were in the same boat. They couldn't directly look after their Amalia, too.

Whenever Matt got a free time, he texted Neil what furniture, equipment, and household accessories he thought would be useful to prepare in their apartment for a growing infant. The striker was puzzled by the complicated descriptions, but had it all jotted down and forwarded the notes to Andrew, just in case they would _really_ require them. Aside from those, Dan sent in her suggestions on vitamins and several brands of milk, bottles, pacifiers, and clothes that Neil couldn't all recall off the top of his head. There were too many she had thrown in advance, as though she was enumerating everything from her and Matt's own experience.

_\--Guess thats too much lol just tell us anytime what u have got so far._

_\--Will check with Andrew what we have later._

_\--1 of these weeks Matt & I can send u some things _;D

_\--Send us?_

_\--Yup. Been a while since we last did for fam. Will be fun._

_\--Sure it's ok? Coz you're also busy._

_\--Course Neil! More than OK! Consider it r gifts 2 ur baby <3_

_\--Thanks. A lot, I think._

Allison's support was in the form of getting the couple a handful of contacts for interior decorators, outrighty declaring she'd pay for the whole makeover of not just the supposed baby room but their entire place. And if neither Neil nor Andrew called one from the numbers she had given, she'd just have a decorator of her personal choosing fly over to the athletes' address for a visit. Obviously, Nicky had let on to the Foxes that there wasn't a nursery in his cousin's apartment. _Suffice it to say a crib won't do, you dull people!_ She was stressing how a baby needed a richly and pleasantly-stimulating environment.

Prone to shopping sprees himself, Nicky had already been loading their place up every other day with children's toys and clothes that the boy would likely outgrow in the coming months. He had been taking pictures of each item and sending them to the couple, not counting some sight-seeing photos and updates with Erik.

"The purchases help him relax," Erik had said over the phone the other day. "We're really looking forward to the approval and finalization."

"I apologize about your trips," Neil had said.

"Don't. If it was the other way around, you'd be there for us as well." Erik laughed. "Plus, we're excited to be uncles again."

Renee's messages were not as many as the others' had been, but they were just as important. Neil called her after the most recent one: _Awesome goals tonight, Neil. Hope everything is going well for you and Andrew and the boy. We're always here. All the best from my family._

Surprisingly, Aaron had also texted Neil. It was a short _Good luck_ several days back, but the striker reckoned his message was referring to everything that he and Andrew were going through right now--the regular season, the application, the boy. Katelyn was a lot wordier than her husband; she had called Neil the same day as Aaron's text, since she wouldn't attempt to contact Andrew herself. Katelyn had talked more about what was up with her and Aaron at work lately, how the married couple had been planning her niece's birthday party, and the latest on her relatives and their new friends. Before she hung up, however, she'd asked Neil if they could see their baby as soon as the legal issues were solved.

"I do see children everyday at the hospital," she had said, with an edgy chuckle like she was pleased and uneasy and hopeful all at the same time, "but you get it, right? He's not just gonna be another beautiful child to any of us. He's different from the others now. He will be your son. And you know, our nephew."

The striker was speechless for a minute, then he heard himself saying nervously, "Yeah." He wasn't sure what his eloquent _yeah_ was specifically replying to among the things she'd just said. He swallowed and exhaled. "You have our address. So, we'll contact you as soon as, uh, as soon as we're settled. At home." If Andrew had responded the way he did with Aaron's message concerning the boy, Neil couldn't tell how he'd take it when his twin and sister-in-law came to check out his "son"--their _son_. Neil himself couldn't fathom what that word truly meant. All of a sudden, it sounded unbelievable...and fragile.

Coach Wymack and Abby had sent him well wishes through e-mails. There was a one-line postscript from Abby, stating that Coach Wymack immediately opened a bottle of whiskey upon hearing the news. _For a good reason_ , Abby had said. For a good bolt out of the blue, more like. Nothing new by now, Neil thought, inwardly sighing.

Betsy had spoken with him over the phone the night of Andrew's missed game. Having known all along about the baby situation, she'd already been arranging for an earlier vacation, hoping she could see them as soon as possible. It wasn't a long conversation with her; still, Neil allowed himself to confirm a snippet of his anxiety, to which Betsy offered mild words--no judgment, no advices, just brief yet significant acceptance. He and Betsy were not on a confessional level, probably never going to be completely that way. They respected and trusted each other on so many levels, however. After all, Andrew's well-being was vital to the both of them.

Still, the way they all reached out to him and Andrew, one would infer that the baby had long been theirs and was only waiting to get back home to them this summer. Somehow, it was disarming how easily the Foxes had embraced their friends' would-be household setup, to the point that each of them, on his or her own fashion, was planning farther ahead than the two men would ever do for themselves. Although all of the Foxes had yet to see the boy with their eyes, they were already treating him as though he was a big piece in a puzzle they were all putting together day by day. Nicky was heartbroken when he learned about the baby's indistinct state. He told Andrew and Neil that he couldn't look at the baby anymore without feeling like they were related.

"We'll all keep him, right?" he almost pleaded the couple that one night on a three-way call, even though Andrew was just on the other side of the wall in the apartment. "If this isn't a great work of fate, then I don't know what. But I will give anything to help as long as we get to keep him."

At his words then, Neil's chest had constricted, his pulse in a rush, his heart thudding to the tips of his ears. There was a new ache inside his breast that wasn't really painful yet was so unreal. Because in that second inside his head, he was hearing the baby's coos and little squeals and his blissful babbling to an Exy ball he'd given, while feeling the warmth and weight of the small body on his lap. In that second, he also felt the discomfort, the frustration, and the fatigue of taking care of the child once more. And then there was relief when the baby would stop crying and instead marvel at him with those pale-blue eyes. Behind that second, there was a soft, soft voice telling Neil: _All that? Utterly mind-boggling and nuts. But all that? Not so bad, after all. Perhaps, not bad at all._

One text after another, a thick log of calls, a pool of voice mails waiting for him after training sessions, lengthy e-mails, and surely there was much more on their exclusive message board. Overwhelmed, Neil was filled with unexpressed gratitude for the Foxes' positive approach on their situation because, despite the incredible reactions, their show of personal support alleviated the gravity of his own uncertainties.

Several minutes ticked by on Andrew's call. There again was their mutual lack of words on the line, the two men deep in thought together, notwithstanding the present distance.

"Anything from Pemberton's guys?" Neil whispered, stopping near a half-open window, about twenty paces away from the double glass doors of the athletes' cafeteria at their team's place in Georgia. He peered at the distant and cloudless sky, the wafts of warm afternoon wind tickling his nostrils.

A soft breath could be heard from the other line. Andrew's voice was low when he replied, "The Hawaii trip is looking more and more a complete ruse."

In retrospect, the goalkeeper could have flown back and forth for a game or two between last week and the current one. That wrench of schedule would've been arduous if he squeezed in quick pre-match training sessions, but it could've still been doable; however, he decided to stay straight because he wasn't leaving investigations to the system alone. He had been visiting the mixed martial arts center, checking options, discussing future arrangements with Glen and Christine, and meeting Pemberton's contact who'd been commissioned to trace Agatha's identity and the people who might've gotten in touch with her since last year.

Curiosity wasn't their only motivation; every decision was mainly about security. Andrew and Neil deemed it judicious to try and discover what the boy's mother had been involved with. To find out if she had indeed died, if she did so while protecting her child, if the boy was no longer in danger, if there was a true risk that somebody might recognize him if he went public.

"Detections?"

The sound of feet on treadmill had petered out till it died out, leaving low-key breaths and shuffling. "Same," Andrew replied. "None on him. No hospital or clinic records. No tracks of birth counting five to seven months back. Clean, like he'd just been born last week. The first data was with the social services."

"And her?"

"Same. Not even a shadow. So far." They only knew it was, indeed, Agatha, because the handwriting on the letter that was left on the baby's basket matched what was found in Felix, among the haircutters' mundane notes on the staff room for food orders and directives for clients' requests. Had she been careless with leaving that particular print? Andrew and Neil didn't think so. Judging by her surmised work and cover up till now, that move appeared very calculated--a giveaway so that the goalkeeper would at least be confident it was her who left him the boy, on top of the conscious hint on the _blond hair_. Was it the last giveaway? They didn't know.

"Can we start believing one theory, then?" That the baby had been successfully hidden as a result of her mother's carefully-planned efforts, that the baby was on a pure blank slate with Andrew and Neil, and that the question of his roots was meant to remain cold forever, to never be solved now through eternity.

"Perhaps. If this continues." There was a tiny tic to Neil's ears. He heard a meow, a soft one, King Fluffkins, the noise of the fridge opening and closing, a click of a soda can before a gulp. Then Andrew again. "For the time being, Clive says this Agatha is akin to a ghost. Pemberton wonders if she's one of those drifters whose appearance is somehow altered."

"Is that so," Neil said, eyes faintly thinning as his mother's memories crawled like gray mist into his head, rising and clouding the clarity of the sunlight he was seeing outside the window.

What if Neil had also met Agatha at Felix? Would Neil find a semblance of his mother on her instantaneously? He tried to sketch her at the back of his earthly vision, tried to give face and shape to the network of schemes, to line the motive of her actions, to paint the fear she had for her unborn child's safety, to color her courage of letting go what she'd braved to carry for nine months. And in all those blurry and wavy depictions, what Neil saw was the portrait of a petite woman, with a thousand masks ready to switch in a blink of an eye for naive strangers, with a bed of mistrust and terror beneath her fair skin, with a shaky, veiny hand towing her only child with her for many years through many cities, just so the two of them could survive the jaws of their pasts in cold-blooded streets.

There was a sting to Neil's throat that he swallowed down fast. If Agatha was just like Mary, did that signify that he was saving another boy, who could have been a young Neil? He closed his eyes, then thought of the baby and his peaceful face during his sleep on their bed. Neil could see himself there, on top of the mattress, lying on his side, bent arm under the side of his auburn head, watching the baby dream in serenity. He liked him like that. Inexplicably, it felt like hope, the irresistible pull of it, once again.

"Does _he_ look like her at all?" he asked in a soft voice.

The quiet undulated between them.

And then Andrew said, "They share the freckles."

Brows creased, Neil stepped back, opened his eyes slowly, and turned toward the cafeteria's direction. With fading little dark spots in his vision, he saw his teammates seated around the left half of the hall. "Millions of people have freckles."

"Exactly."

A minute of thinking, then the striker wet his lip. He wouldn't think of his mother right now. He gulped down the leftover trails of his reminiscence and went for a slightly light tone in spite of the stir in his stomach.

"Well. As I've informed Coach, you and I have a baby." Looking back to many summers ago, when Neil and Andrew had just met each other in May--right when the goalkeeper swung a racket at him while on his meds, nearly knocking Neil's teenage lungs out in Arizona--never would it have crossed his mind that he'd utter such, _such_ words about them. If during those days, anybody had thrown a prediction pertaining to this future, he'd pronounce it the sickest joke he'd had ever heard in his supposedly short life. Memories, memories. Bittersweet memories. "See how far we two have gone in life? The Foxes are very proud."

The striker pushed the right glass door open and in casual steps went to join his teammates with his phone still on his ear. When he sat down, amid the greetings of the players around him, he heard the familiar flick of a lighter through the line and an audible breath. "I hate you," Andrew said.

Ignoring the curious looks directed at him, Neil hummed. A smile was threatening to pull at his lips. "Like it's a secret."

"I do mean it."

"Of course, you mean it." And Neil wouldn't have it any other way.

Even though their calls were frequent and Neil went through the same training and playing routine with the team on solid determination and energy, the days were still snailing to complete the last week of the month. It just couldn't be July 1st faster--July and its first evening.

Thursday, and they were two hours away before their last game in June. Coach Griffiths was still unhappy that one of his goalkeepers was still not around to crush the opponent's balls inside the court. Nevertheless, he was less unhappy tonight than he'd been the last couple of matches. The victories were beginning to pile up once more, raking in points, restricting the losses, attaining their initial goals; and Andrew would be present for their first game in July. Neil couldn't wait, either.

Thus far, the whole team was handling the insistent questions on Andrew's mysterious absence quite well. For the past few weeks, the players, staff, and management have been providing similar statements to the media and the public in every inquiry: _Yes, Andrew Minyard's doing good. Hell no, we are not dropping him off our team. Yes, rest assured there's no problem with his health. Just, something is up with private stuff, and we humans all have one of those every once in a while, yeah? Sorry, we cannot tell you the details. No, we believe he and Neil Josten are not "on the rocks" as they say. Sorry, guys, we are not in a (safe) position to comment about them. Yes, absolutely, Andrew Minyard will continue playing this season. What did you just say? Definitely negative! Of course, this is not a bloody gimmick._

Up to now, Neil was the only person who'd avoided openly facing the probing. As per Ursula's instruction, the striker also sidestepped questions about their sport, because at some point somebody wouldn't be able to hold back the temptation, and he or she would lead in the questions toward Andrew Minyard. Lately, Neil would walk away from the post-match cluster of photographers and reporters, ignoring their calls, even when one or two hollered "Hey, Jealous Josten!"

He was gearing up for the game when Heidi, one of their backliners, entered the men's locker room without ceremony, announcing in her sing-song voice, "Guess who's sitting in one of the best seats?"

"Andrew?" Sato asked, not batting an eyelash at her sudden presence. They all acknowledged her entrance, although nobody was bothered by it, since she had this certain habit of sneaking up on everyone, even when people weren't changing. Coach Griffiths swore he'd get a heart attack from her one of these years.

Heidi rolled her eyes. "You wacko, not him." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's his admirer, though."

Neil glanced over his shoulder. "Wilhelmina?"

"Yep, yep, yep. Interesting, no? Just thought I'd give you the heads-up." She winked at him before leaving the locker room as breezily as she came.

Some of the men laughed to themselves, some donned their uniforms with small smirks, some muttered words Neil didn't catch. When they were all clad for the game, with helmets and gloves in their hands, Burton nudged him in a friendly manner on their way out to the assembly room. "Up for your face-off?"

Neil nudged him back. "Why would there be a face-off?"

"I dunno... JJ?"

Used to his teammates' antics, Neil just shook his head and snorted soundlessly. He punched Burton's chest in good humor. "Knock it off, B."

With a hand on his chest, Burton feigned an offended look. "Hey, I'm concerned for you here."

Behind them, someone said, "Don't bother, B! He's not gonna recognize a model from an actor from a politician from a prince among the mix in the VIP seats." His teammate had a point, not because Neil didn't know Wilhelmina's appearance--he did, since that interview--but he'd be too focused on his opponents and the goal and the entire game to mind about who was watching the match. In the first place, he had no issues with her.

The striker would only be too conscious of specific audience if it was the Foxes family who'd be watching them play. Nevertheless, and needless to say, Neil appreciated the spectators and viewers. Their existence fueled his senses before each match, adding that significant sharpness to the stimulation of being in the middle of the stadium, adding to the heat of his passion for the sport. Neil was once a spectator, too. He knew what it was like to be on the bleachers, how it was like to be unable to contain the excitement. He knew what an Exy follower truly wanted--a great play, a great game. So, that was what he'd give back every time he went out on the court with a racket in his hand.

And so he did it, too, in this match. The fight had been very tough, and it was a hard win of two points over the other team's score. There were yellow and red cards every five or six minutes. His right shoulder was twinging from dull pain after that nasty body check by the player marking him, his elbow throbbing from the fall, and his leg muscles shy of having cramps when the second half ended. His teammates were still catching their breaths, sure to have a hell of muscle and joint aches tomorrow morning. At least, there was no real injury to anyone, and they secured another win.

Apart from the courtside press time, there was also a brief conference with the winning team in the conference room after the post-game checkups. Ursula had decided a while ago that it would be better for Neil to sit with his teammates on that one tonight. He was so tempted to leave himself out of it, though. He just wanted to shower and dress up comfortably and lie back for an hour and call Andrew, who was certainly keeping tabs on their plays from his tablet. But Ursula was right. The striker couldn't dodge the media forever.

Thankfully, this session with the media was rather... okay. The questions were sensible and purely Exy-related, generally. Coach Griffiths shared his thoughts on the match, then his players rotated in discussing their experiences in this game, plus their opinions on team rivalries that had been carrying on from the past two seasons. There were questions on the harmony of their own team. Shortly after, one reporter from the front inquired how each of them handle the fame and stress of being high profile athletes, which was a harmless topic all right.

And then, in relation to the last question, another reporter asked if Andrew Minyard was using his current time off the court to cope with his own stress. The players in the panel didn't lean in to their microphones to answer; even Coach Griffiths was tight-lipped. They had their camera-ready faces on, looking straight ahead, not hinting on anything, but they might as well have pointed their fingers to Neil over the table because their silence led the press people to look at Neil expectantly, assuming he was the best person to respond in behalf of the goalkeeper.

Blue eyes slanted down the table surface for a second, the striker squared his sore shoulders a little, leaned forward, and smiled--a wooly curve of his lips. "I think the person in question is the one who can really talk about himself, yeah?" he said. "We understand that many of you are rooting for him with the rest of our team, so here's the news: Andrew is playing on Saturday." He sat back, and that had been his last response to the media for the evening. Naturally, there were eager follow-up questions, which Coach Griffiths picked up to handle right after Neil's simple revelation.

The players returned to the assembly room, where assistant coaches gave them quick notes for the next day's training sessions. Then the whole team headed to the athletes-only lift and went down the exit on the ground floor. They boarded their sleek gray deluxe bus in the exclusive parking space separated from the lots intended for the audience. When Neil was about to follow Shayne past the bus's door, one of the PR staff called his name. The striker turned his head and stopped to find the tall brunet Fletcher Gil marching toward him from the security-coded backdoor.

"Hey," he said to the man.

"Yeah." As soon as Fletcher was towering before Neil, he thrust a handy-sized box wrapped in a gold metallic wrap to him. "For you."

Brows furrowing, Neil blinked. "From you?" As far as he could tell, there was no occasion today to warrant gift-giving among the staff and the team. The win was a pleasant event to celebrate; however, it wasn't pleasant enough that a player should receive a present.

It was Fletcher's turn to blink. "Eh? Oh, no. Not from me."

"From who?"

The grin on Fletcher's face then was as wide as half of the shape of the stadium. He clucked his tongue twice good-naturedly. "Lucky bastard. Wilhelmina requested this to be passed to you." His thick brown brow cocked a little. "Well, it's her PA who handed this to our peeps actually, but same source." When Neil just stared at the box without lifting a finger, Fletcher sighed and chuckled at the same time. "Don't worry, Neil. It's not dangerous. Went through checks with our security twice. Sniffed and scanned. Just note that we didn't really check what's inside, okay?"

The striker raised his questioning eyes at Fletcher. "Really?" he repeated.

The man laughed softly and patted him on the shoulder. Neil's teammates were starting to peer out the windows from up their comfy seats to see what was delaying him below. "Who knows? Could've been a bomb, eh? You know, with the JJ stuff and all. But nah. Nah, just paper and fancy accessory of sort, we think. Zero powder. Zero blade. Zero chemicals, either. Passed the test. Safe."

"Hm. What if it's a death threat?" Neil said blankly, a small jab at humor, as he finally held the box. It was light in his hand. He shook it up, and it didn't rattle much.

Hands on his hips, Fletcher laughed, a bit louder this time. "Well," he crooned, "you'd know who to press a charge on, then. Plus, you'll know to call us right away."

The striker shrugged one shoulder. "Thanks."

"See you, man." After a small wave, Fletcher turned away, and as he walked briskly toward the backdoor, he pulled out his ringing phone. Neil heard a casual "Yes, Miss Ursula?" from him, before he tucked the box under his arm and got inside the bus.

During the ride to their hotel-residence in Chicago, the team teased him into opening the box. Neil didn't because it felt like it wasn't Wilhelmina's intention for its content to be shared with others. He had been just as intrigued, though, pondering what possessed the model to give him _something_. Burton said that perhaps she might have switched camps and had developed a fondness for the striker. Could be, but Neil was convinced this box was truly meant for Andrew, and that since her favorite goalkeeper wasn't around tonight, she'd decided that Neil would be her messenger. If that was indeed the case, then... _Wonderful._ Oddly enough, even in his head, the word was a toneless yet mocking remark.


	7. Chapter Seven

The thing was, Neil had been quite right about his little hunch.

In the bedroom, sitting on the mattress in his white cotton long-sleeve shirt and equally white sweatpants, he had unwrapped the box and removed the lid with mild apprehension. For a second there, before the actual mundane deed of his hands, he was visited by a distant sense of alarm that he hadn't felt in a long time--one that he'd been accustomed to in his much younger years. Way back then, before his contract with Ichirou Moriyama had been sealed, a suspicious package from somebody he wasn't on a personal level with could only mean his death. Now, it was like readying himself for a possibly-wicked prank. That clouded second in his head passed without incident, and Neil hadn't gotten that reflexive need to run. Times like this, he remembered a modicum of his past yet no longer reacted the way the old him would.

Before minding the box, he was browsing the Foxes' uploaded pictures and videos that had accumulated in his May and June folders. His phone was lying face-up on his thigh, the bright screen playing an eighteen-minute video of the baby in the seat Nicky had bought for him. It was a video taken before Andrew had gone back, and it showed the boy in his usual Exy ball chat. The cooing filled the room as Neil watched him with a funny sensation in his stomach. He was in the middle of viewing when he absently stretched out his left foot and suddenly touched the box on the edge of the bed. It was then that he'd been reminded of Wilhelmina's "gift."

Upon opening the box, a yellow and square stationery paper greeted the striker. It was strongly scented, as though perfume was sprayed on it just before it was put inside. The paper was also framed by a floral, viny bronze pattern, a frilly embossed design all over the sides. Slightly squinting, Neil brought the paper a few inches closer to his face to read the note, all written in blue ink and small letters, which, in consolation, were not in cursive form.

_Hi there, Neil!_

_Sorry if I ever made you jealous as rumors say. Hope things are o.k. and you're really not jealous. Coz just an avid fan here._

_Xoxo, Willa_

_P.S. Please send my love to Andrew!_

It seemed said _love_ to Andrew had a price--literally--because under the note in the box was a small black cushion, and wound around it neatly was a gold chain necklace. The chains were fine, like a tightly woven rope as thin as a few hair strands that were gilded and linked together. The jewelrey looked dead expensive and new, judging especially by the gleaming and spotless pendant that was a four-leaf clover. The size, shape, curl, and the veins on it made it appear real, as though a true clover was dipped in a glass of gold, or the golden leaves had rather naturally sprouted from the stem.

Neil's forehead wrinkled, and the gap between his knitted brows crumpled like pinched cloth. His lips together were virtually a perfectly straight line. He read the note a second time. Was "Willa" being sincere and meaning well with her message? Or was she attempting to taunt Neil, considering how the word _jealous_ was squiggled down on her note two times? No matter what people assumed, the striker was unaffected unlike what was being suggested, because there wasn't a reason to be one. In truth, he was rather confused, because wasn't it Wilhelmina who was in the spot to plausibly harbor such emotion? But he didn't know much about her to jump into conclusions.

With the video still playing on the background on his phone, and the baby's squeals grabbing his attention, the striker sighed and shook his head. Having already taken a photo of the wrapped box in the bus earlier, he now captured a few more shots of the note and the necklace, then sent them to Andrew. He put the note back into the box, set the whole thing on the accent table near his bag, and turned off the lamp on the nighstand. It was a relief to his aching torso to be lying on his back. He closed his eyes when the baby's video was done playing, his phone in his lax hold. If only the imagined weight of their cats on his side were real. If only Andrew's warmth a couple inches from his body was not just his skin's memory. If only...the baby would be in a crib a step away from Andrew and Neil's bed, away from cat paws, sleeping soundly with a pain-free face, without a bad dream to start him awake.

Neil unlocked his phone's screen and went back to the Foxes' message board, leaving the application's tab for stored pictures and videos. There was as though a kilometer's length of reading backlogs on the board now, in particular for the threads from a couple of weeks ago, that he wouldn't completely get around to yet tonight; so in the mean time, he checked what was being discussed from up this morning.

This morning, the board's topic was the first name that the baby _should_ be having. There was a somersault in Neil's stomach at that. He himself had yet to come up with a decent name to contribute, and Andrew still hadn't discussed this with him even though that should also be on the petition now along the proposed surname. Nicky had began the online conversation, saying the Exy couple might be too engrossed with work, too busy to water a pool of ideas to get their choices from. Most of the Foxes crunched into it right away. Throughout the day, whenever one was likely most available, the Foxes dropped in their suggestions. Neil studied each name candidate, envisioned addressing the baby with it, upon stumbling on Nicky's kindling post that was logged around brunch time:

 _\--_ Nicky: _Andrew J. Minyard, Jr._

 _\--_ Renee: _Mm... Not sure about that one. I mean, you know Andrew._

 _\--_ Erik: _Me, too, love... Uh, good suggestion, though_.

 _\--_ Allison: _Wut???!!! Please. My head's aching in an instant!_

 _\--_ Dan: _Wow. Holy shit._

 _\--_ Matt: _Man, can't imagine cooing soft "Andrew"s to him..._

 _\--_ Nicky: _Hey, why not? It's a darling and charming name, guys. And it's a different boy this time._

 _\--_ Kevin: _Your days are numbered. Are you drunk?_

 _\--_ Matt: _I might have to agree._

 _\--_ Katelyn: _Aaron wants to tell you to NEVER go hiding in our house._ ;) _I say there are other names out there so you can live._

 _\--_ Nicky: :[ _Killjoys! Yours truly have great hopes here. Imagine... we can still call him Drew or Andy._

 _\--_ Dan: _I'm sorry. I just DON'T think we can_.

 _\--_ Allison: _Fuck. NO WAY AT ALL. There's a pre-planted image and personality associated with that name. What's that thing in Psych again???_

 _\--_ Erik: _Stimulus-response? Not sure._

 _\--_ Allison: _Yeah! Thanks, E. That said._

 _\--_ Dan: _I say let's be real._

 _\--_ Renee: _Andrew won't probably agree to it, Nicky. It's not like him._

 _\--_ Matt: _What about William?_

 _\--_ Renee: _That one's okay._

 _\--_ Katelyn: _Much safer._

 _\--_ Nicky: _But I don't think he's a William._

 _\--_ Dan: _Adam_?

 _\--_ Erik: _How about Sigmund?_

 _\--_ Katelyn: _Desmond_?

 _\--_ Dan: _Edmund?_

 _\--_ Matt: _Raymond?_

 _\--_ Renee: _Or Gabriel?_

 _\--_ Nicky: _Ooohh, rhymes with Aaron's Michael._

 _\--_ Erik: _Like Emmanuel._

 _\--_ Katelyn: _And like Raphael._

 _\--_ Dan: _Haha! Like Danielle, too! Course, for him it be Daniel XD_

 _\--_ Allison: _Maybe we need some N in him, cause Neil. Nigel?_

 _\--_ Kevin: _The heck. Are you people writing a name poem on this board?_

 _\--_ Matt: _At least, we're sharing ideas, Kev. On your break now?_

 _\--_ Kevin: _Just got back from workout._

 _\--_ Allison: _Goodness, don't you encourage Kevin, Matt._

 _\--_ Nicky: _Or he'll want to name the boy Exy-kiel or something_

 _\--_ Allison: _LOL LOL LOL Damn right_

 _\--_ Dan: _Hoho Exy-kiel FTW!_

 _\--_ Matt: _What if Neil liked it, though? He won't but Haha-Hypothetically speaking._

 _\--_ Katelyn: _Eh, it's going to be unique..._

 _\--_ Erik: _What's his nickname, then? Exy?_

 _\--_ Nicky: _Oh, Good Lord have mercy. No, no, no. Please._

 _\--_ Renee: _It was your idea_.

 _\--_ Nicky: _No, dear. Was Kevin's probable idea._

 _\--_ Kevin: _The fuck do you think of me? All of you, one of these days. I'm telling you._

 _\--_ Matt: _See ya on the July 14 game_ 8-))

 _\--_ Kevin: _Better not disappoint, Boyd._

 _\--_ Dan: _Course our Matt won't!_ 8-) _Anyway, just had this crazy thought, what if the baby were named Fox instead?_

 _\--_ Katelyn: _Then he gets signed with Palmetto in college._

 _\--_ Matt: _Redundancy at play_ :)

 _\--_ Katelyn: _Devotion even_ :')

 _\--_ Allison: _I've decided. Addison will be beautiful. Since we're both blonde already, why not share a few letters._

 _\--_ Nicky: _Few, huh? lol_

 _\--_ Renee: :))) _It does sound adorable_.

 _\--_ Kevin: _Just called Andrew_.

 _\--_ Dan: _Oh_

 _\--_ Katelyn: _More like uh-oh, girl_

 _\--_ Dan: _Right! You just talked to him?_ :O

 _\--_ Kevin: _Yes._

 _\--_ Allison: _That snob_ >:-| _he doesn't answer my calls anymore since Monday_

 _\--_ Kevin: _Don't twist your brain cells over your lame ideas. I told him what nonsense you're all having here._

 _\--_ Allison: _Fucking party pooper! And why tell him now when he can read these later? Duh_

 _\--_ Nicky: _Spoilsport!!!_ :{{{{ _I will call Neil!_

 _\--_ Renee: _I see. You called Andrew again about his off-court training._

 _\--_ Matt: _Or you just suggested some names?_ XD _It's not your own name, is it?_

 _\--_ Dan: _God, no!_

 _\--_ Erik: _Did he listen to you?_

 _\--_ Nicky: _I'll damn cry if my cousin did pick your suggestion._

 _\--_ Aaron: _Don't you dare join them in this, Kevin Day._

Neil hadn't caught what followed Aaron's intervention because his phone sounded for Andrew's video call. The goalkeeper was in their bed in the apartment, his back on the headboard, a pillow behind his head, and Sir Fat Cat curled up on his lap. He was wearing a black sleeveless top, his hair slightly pressed to his forehead, appearing damp. His expression was neutral, his eyes cast down to his tablet, his skin fair in the dim light.

"I was in the middle of reading suggestions." Neil switched the lamp back on.

There was a small tug to the end of Andrew's mouth. "As if we'll take them," he said dispassionately.

"Got any from Kevin?"

"I got a roll of names, but not for a baby."

Neil shifted on the mattress, rolled to his side to an angle wherein his sore shoulder and elbow wouldn't bear weight. "Staff recommendations."

"About twenty CVs are in my e-mail."

"Are they decent to you?"

Sir Fat Cat raised his head, meowed and meowed, and put his paw on the tablet. Andrew frowned and pulled his paw back at once before their pet ended up scratching the screen. "Too decent," he said, sparing a reproving glance at his tubby companion before he wrapped his arm around his furry belly and placed him on his side. "Check your inbox later."

"Hm." Neil was silent for a minute. During that minute, Sir Fat Cat had returned in front to Andrew's lap. Andrew scowled at the cat, but he didn't haul him away. "First name's yours. I'll think of the middle."

The goalkeeper arched a challenging brow. "Think fast. Our agents are working on speeding the process."

"Is it just a matter of time now?"

"That, and still more convincing the skepticals from our part."

"They still have reservations on commitment?"

"We'll shut it anyway."

"Saturday."

"Yes."

And Saturday finally came. The first of July in Atlanta was a loud, _loud_ day for their Exy team on this side of the country. The stadium was animated by thousands upon thousands of spectators that sounded like a million. The excitement was akin to an overflowing vessel of life. Two of the best teams were to duke it out tonight. Neil's nerves were vibrating with energy--all the more an hour before the game because beside him in the locker room, Andrew was gearing up with lithe movements, solid and absolute, as though he'd never been away for weeks.

The goalkeeper had arrived at mid-afternoon in the city and reunited with the team at their pad thirty minutes away from the game venue. Upon getting there, he'd gone straight to the connecting room he was sharing with Neil to leave his bags. He'd know Neil was not inside the bedroom to wait for him. Wearing a short-sleeved gray hoodie over loose denim pants, Neil was waiting for him at the smoking terrace of the building that was overlooking the park across the street.

He watched Andrew swing the door open and walk toward him with a hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding his phone. Every manner of his body conveyed sureness tinged with the carefree. The goalkeeper was clad in black from head to foot: a black shirt with buttons open at the collar, black leather belt, black slim-cut jeans, black sneakers. In a glance, somebody unaware of his fame in the Exy sphere wouldn't suppose him a professional star athlete. If one added an edgy styling to his head and face, then he might pass more as a member of a band ready for the next gig.

As soon as he joined Neil beside the railing, Neil pulled out the cigarette pack from his back pocket, handed Andrew a stick and lit it with his lighter. Neil got a second stick out, which Andrew lit by kissing the tip with his own cigarette. The scent of burning nicotine delighted the senses. Neil inhaled the coziness of absorbing a pair of gray-white smoke. With their half-lidded eyes on the park below where trees were masking the expanse of grass and filtered the heavy sunlight, the two were standing in comfortable silence, a couple inches apart, bathing in the presence of each other with sunrays on their forearms.

"How's the trip?"

Slowly facing Neil, the goalkeeper exhaled a cloud. "Quiet."

The striker shot him a small smile. "That bad without me?"

Andrew tilted his head, his eyes slanted down at Neil's chest, his fair lashes roofing the hazel. He had finished his stick wordlessly like that, staring down at Neil's body. The striker was doing the same thing. He was taking the entirety of Andrew in: the whisper of clement air to the ends of his blond hair, the faint bags below his eyes, the pale bow of his lips, the film of sweat down his neck, the sturdiness of his frame, the flicker of fingers, the cool fragrance, the languid breaths, everything. Once Neil was done with the unsmoked cigarette between his fingers and had tossed the butt to the bin at the corner, Andrew stepped forward, sharing his shadow. Neil raised a brow and stepped back, daring him. Andrew indulged, and they moved till Neil had his back up against the wall. He leaned in, the tip of his nose below Neil's. His breath was warm against Neil's mouth.

"Soon," he said, roughness in his voice.

A violent shudder ran down the striker's spine. Andrew bit Neil's bottom lip, a light nip that made him gasp, and then he lifted up his intense eyes at those blues. He pulled back casually and went for the door, darting a glance over his shoulder. How soon was soon? Heartbeat pounding, core stirring, Neil followed the goalkeeper down the hall to meet their coaches and the rest of the team.

When Andrew said that the management and team would be more than satisfied with his return, he meant he'd bludgeon the ball fired by their opponents and block the entry to the goal like a giant iron gate of a fortress. There were misses, but whenever one struck in, Andrew shot back the next attempts with vindictive fierceness. He'd practically catapult the ball as though this game was a war against his territory. The other times, he'd aim the ball within his teammates' reach and let them battle it out to the rival players. They were on a roll mid-season, and it was an awe-inspiring play from him, his fellow goalkeepers, the backliners, offensive and defensive dealers, and the strikers that included Neil.

Seven points over the other score, their team won and enthralled the crowd into a thunderous effect. The prickly bruises and strained muscles were forgotten at the unstoppable cheers from their people. Though they were still many games away from dominating the league, they allowed themselves to savor the moment. If they kept up such performance, they would rock this season even better. It would be a badass challenge to themselves, but heck they'd give it their all to overcome what they achieved from the seasons past.

Neil's ears were buzzing at the thrill of another win, positive that this addictive sensation was shared with Kevin and Matt each time the two Foxes were also out there on the court with their respective teams. Helmets off, the team huddled together paces away from the goal, slapping fives and bumping fists and brushing rackets and passing around congratulatory pats to one another. Andrew gave them his nods, the most upbeat they'd draw out of him in such a moment. He strode alongside Neil toward the general direction of their assistant coaches. Near there waiting for them was a wall of eager press behind the designated lines.

The team automatically divided themselves up into three: the ones who would answer questions right then and there at the courtside, those who would be in the brief conference in the office twenty minutes later, and those who would be doing the said routine next time. To the immediate joy of the reporters and the broadcast viewers, Andrew and Neil were in the first bunch. Two support staff members were with them, as per Ursula's guideline for this match, in case they would have to control the rush of personal questions, and in case the couple said something unbidden or did something more.

Wide-eyed surprise was instantly evident on the correspondents' faces. It was a rare occurrence for the notoriously elusive Andrew J. Minyard to willingly put himself out there in front of them, before the microphones and lenses of the networks and publications they represented. What was more incredibly remarkable was that Neil Josten was right beside him, like they were finally going to open up about their relationship. Keyed-up questions and phrases overlapped, and it was just impossible to be attentive to one or respond to each adequately; Andrew simply stood there with an inexpressive bearing, his shoulder brushing Neil's.

Neil reckoned the goalkeeper tuned out the  tosses since they were practically pertaining to a single string: _Andrew, you've been very very extraordinary tonight, but do tell us where you've truly been, why were you gone, because the Exy sphere's very much damn curious, so can you please go ahead and explain to us what happened?_ When the noise eased up a notch as the reporters restrained themselves while anticipating for at least one line out of his mouth, Andrew stared straight ahead.

"I went to personally take care of a private and legal matter."

There was a hushed second following his succint answer. Then one of the correspondents asked carefully, going just as indirectly as the given statement had been, "May we know what makes it so important and urgent that you've had to see to it yourself?"

"It involves the future."

From the corner of his eyes, Neil saw Coach Griffiths rub at his bearded face. He was in all probability groaning to himself at the true yet cryptic responses of the goalkeeper. So much for disclosure. Their teammates' features were schooled, but their focus was wholly on Andrew and Neil.

"Does that mean just your sole future?" The inquisitive looks the goalkeeper got panned to the striker, as well. "Or does it also encompass Neil Josten's future?"

Andrew glanced at Neil, who in return confirmed, "I am a part of it, yes."

There was excitement yet again, demands on what that legal matter specifically was, if the couple were looking into getting married, if they were investing on joint businesses, on buying properties, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, which the two ignored for a good minute under flashes of DSLRs and rolls of broadcast cams. Then one reporter pushed forward from the right, two footsteps below the rope and beyond the line.

He cut in louder than the others. "What does this game mean to you?" He was a TV sports news rep that their team had seen many times during post-game interviews, and he was smart not to throw the blatant query right now. When Andrew shifted on his feet and looked directly at him, the reporter grinned: he got the goalkeeper's main attention. Neil also turned his head at him.

"Your team is consistently one of the top five in the nation, never missing from the playoffs. Is the routine still the same? I mean, you've been away for a while, but now that you're back and playing, how does it feel like?"

"This game is different," Andrew said, with more expression in his eyes.

The reporter nodded. "Are you speaking professionally or personally?"

"Both."

"Would you elaborate for us, just this one time, Mr. Minyard?" After a second, the reported also glanced at Neil. "And Mr. Josten?"

"Well, each game means something to every player." The striker met Andrew's eyes for a meaningful moment, before he looked back at the reporter and continued, "And this one is significant to us because we dedicate it to the boy who's going to be an important part of our future."

In a flash, confusion colored the reporter's face at Neil's response. Evidently, it wasn't the answer he was fishing for. " _Boy_?"

Andrew said casually, "This victory is one of the many for King Arthur." Neil's head snapped back at Andrew, at the same time that people were practically wondering aloud _Huh? What's he talking about? King Arthur of Le Morte Arthur? The legendary king of Britons as told by Malory?_ Andrew's profile was unreadable as he went on to say in an equally unreadable tone, "Arthur is the little boy Neil and I are going to raise together."

There was an attached echo to that statement which filled Neil's head all the way back to the team's pad. It was all he could hear on his mind after Andrew impassively turned on his heel and left the reporters in their bewilderment and the resulting thirst for more information. In the same fashion, Neil followed the goalkeeper to their locker room and let his teammates and the staff to manage the rest of the courtside interviews. He barely registered what his team were talking about on the bus later. The striker just stared at the roadside views speeding by with the goalkeeper seated to his left at the second to the farthest row at the back. Those strong arms were crossed loosely over a firm chest, his hazel gaze cast down at his lap. Neither man uttered a word to each other through dinner and the regular fitness checks. Their phones were both set in silent on the pedestal table, and the TV remained off. A lantern hanging off the ceiling at the far corner of the room gave a mellow and laid-back amber glow to their bed, as though it was soaked in fading sunset.

Naked and lightly bruised from the game, they were a few breaths away from each other on top of the dark blue covers. They dozed off, asleep for about two hours, and woke up the same way. Neil was lying prone with his arms and hands to his sides, his left cheek half-sinking into the pillow, facing Andrew. Andrew was lying on his back, a relaxed arm across his bare and toned stomach, his right hand brushing Neil's right hand. His head was also tilted to the side, staring straight back at him.

Like this, the name still reverberated inside Neil: _King Arthur. Arthur, Arthur, Arthur._ He pictured the baby boy that was warm on his lap.

_Neil and Andrew have Arthur._

"They would've discovered that, too," said Andrew.

Thus it was better to have the name out in the open as early as now, whether advised or not. The two of them already had much to have learned from Kevin and Matt's earlier experiences in the Court. They were aware that the main facts of their lives would be unravelled for public consumption. Yes, they were Exy players; however, they were also public figures.

"They would," Neil agreed. "Just... _Arthur_." Because Neil had only mentioned it in passing, a random slip on an interest during one of their serious talks. He'd never thought that Andrew and his fine and vivid memory would store that one away and choose it among the variables.

"This way you don't have to think about his legendary return anymore."

"Because he's with us already."

"And he's gonna need us so he can go hunting for that Excalibur someday. Enemies be damned."

Chest tight and heart racing and lips tingling, Neil moved and rolled and shifted till he was lying the same way the goalkeeper was.

"What?" Andrew asked, a slight edge to his tone, when Neil just kept looking at him with soulful blue eyes. The latter couldn't comb through the ache in his chest, so he just took Andrew's hand and put it there. There where his heart was kicking viciously against his rib. The palm on his skin bled heat that seeped through his flesh.

"You make it hard to breathe sometimes," Neil said softly.

Andrew blinked. His eyes almost gleamed tawny like tiny flames. "You're fucking guilty of the same crime."

Neil couldn't stifle his electric smile. Andrew couldn't stifle his grunt. They met halfway and seized each other's breaths by colliding their mouths. For a long, long while, it was all wet kisses and teeth and sparks; all spine-deep shivers and tongues and gasps. Andrew half-covered Neil with his hard body, pressing him further into the bed, possessing him with his wild mouth, sucking Neil's soul with it. He would swipe the inside of Neil's cheeks and sweep the other's tongue. He would keep Neil's bottom lip between his own lips and adore it, making it swell, swell, swell.

Just from Andrew's combusting kisses, Neil swore his brain had short-circuited and his heart rate must be going over two hundred beats per minute. It didn't help that his throbbing shaft was rubbing against Andrew's moving hip. _Fuck_ , he was aching. He was swimmy from so much desire and delightful pain. He was swimming in everything that was Andrew, and wouldn't want anything else. It's _Andrew_. He was more than willing to get drowned in him.

His tormenter broke their frenzied contact and remarked, "You're too sensitive."

Eyes closed, Neil arched his back, a scratchy noise escaping his throat. He reached between their bodies, below his abdomen. "Bet it's not a problem," he said, squeezing the crown of his cock, needing that bit of pain to curb.

Andrew sat back up, knees trapping Neil's thighs, eyes darkening down at Neil's hand between his legs. He observed Neil, who was now torn between pleasuring himself under Andrew's stare and controlling his urge.

"What if I want you to hold it, till I say otherwise?" he dared with a low, deep tone. Neil didn't think the hardness the goalkeeper was sporting was any easier, but he was right. Neil was just plenty more driven at the moment.

"Nnn," Neil purred, stroking himself languidly. "Don't know." He lifted his hip. "Tie me up?" he said coolly.

Andrew scoffed, arms over his chest. "And be counterproductive."

"Didn't say my wrists," Neil said cheekily.

There was that grunt again: half-amused, half-irritated. Andrew patted him on the side of his thigh. "Lube."

Neil shot him an eye-roll, which said that Andrew was the one sitting up right this second, and was in the best position to climb off the bed and retrieve the fucking lube. Andrew moved away, but only to lie down comfortably beside Neil. With an unimpressed look, he turned his head to him and tipped his chin toward the chest across their bed.

The striker quirked his lips in faint annoyance and let go of his dick to stand up and get the lube from the topmost drawer. When he spun back, he found Andrew was now the one palming his granite-hard cock. Neil's footsteps back to the side of the bed were awestruck slow, his eyes gravitated by the motions of Andrew's hand.

"Yes," Neil said, not waiting for the question that Andrew didn't voice aloud. He felt it across the space between them. Andrew knew Neil was transfixed at him.

Without looking at his captivated viewer but with hazel eyes falling half-lidded, little by little, Andrew stretched his other arm out atop the covers, mildly sweeping the space Neil had just vacated beside him and waved his hand in a beckoning gesture. "Here," Andrew said.

Bottle of lube in one hand, Neil perched his knee onto the bed. "How do you want us?" he asked. It wasn't really a whisper; it was more like a hushed breath.

At such an engaging angle, Andrew slanted his face up at him, then shifted his forearm and moved his hand on the bed in an inviting manner. "Your hips. Here." That's how Andrew wanted it: his arm and hand wrapped around Neil's hips. "And whatever you want."

A nod, then Neil dropped the lube near the goalkeeper's head, then he crawled to him on all fours, until he was poised by the headboard over Andrew who raised his head at him. Their lips locked for a confirming, reassuring, encouraging second. Unhurriedly, sensually, Neil twisted his body like a limber cat, going further down, gliding his chest over Andrew's lower abdomen, his head facing the foot-end of the bed. Neil's palms landed on the surface of the covers on either side of Andrew's shapely and firm thighs. Within his reach were those lean-muscled calves and feet that were unpredictable before the home goal in the Exy court.

And then Andrew lifted Neil's knee with a sure hold, guiding and positioning him to a low kneel, as Neil spread his legs over the goalkeeper's shoulders. His own feet were braced against the headboard.

Charged chills shot up Neil's spine and buzzed his skull as his hips were grabbed possessively and pulled back from behind by strong rough hands, till his cock was hovering Andrew's face. _Goodness_ , did his thighs tremble and his belly muscles spasmed at the hot breaths aimed at his tip. He sniffed air at the anticipation for something more, something closer, something hotter and wetter.

"Too sensitive," exhaled Andrew before licking the underside of the length of Neil's cock, making him gasp sharply, making him curse.

Neil dug his fingers into the covers as Andrew began to close his lips around the head and suck hard like it was oxygen. The striker arched his back, as though he were a furry animal yearning for the moon. He was inching back, easing himself into the most convenient tilt, aiming himself into Andrew's mouth.

Moments later, off his own mouth was a chain of curses as Andrew took him in deeper and faster, swallowing him whole while his hands gripped Neil's hips oh-so-tightly that those fingers would leave their marks after. Vigorous or leisurely, he lifted Neil and drew him down past his lips on a pattern that couldn't be determined. All the same, Neil was helpless with every sucking and licking and throating done to him. He just moaned and whimpered and moaned while either fisting at the sheets or burying his face into Andrew's groin, nuzzling and kissing Andrew's skin.

This closeness lasted several more minutes, then the engulfing heat around him disappeared. Heartbeats resonating in his head, Neil glanced backward over his shoulder, though only the headboard was what he'd clearly seen. Then he sighed wantonly as his balls and crevice were next teased and touched, and the hands on his hips had crept down to knead his ass cheeks.

His dark lashes fluttered, and his head lowered. He inhaled the intoxicating musk that was Andrew. Neil had been stroking him intermittently for some time now, his fingers around the thick base, giving just the right stimulation, and kissing the length of Andrew's hard veiny length every minute. Neil hissed at the hot and wet flesh breaching his tightness, and admired what was in his loose hand. He was done prolonging his own craving, so he held it up with further intent and wrapped his mouth around it, letting out a satisfied groan, earning himself a soothing glide at the tail of his spine from Andrew's rough palm.

Nerves tingling beneath his skin, Neil bobbed his head, hollowing his cheeks, sliding his tongue over the thick flesh within his mouth, working his fingers at the base and lower. Andrew's hands stopped and detached from the striker's lower half. Neil heard the sound of a cap twisting open, a plastic squeeze, a squirt, then he flinched as a cold wet finger made its way into his backside, making him twitch, with his muffled moan around the goalkeeper. He pushed back in a little to him, welcoming the intrusion. And just when Neil thought it'd keep on this way--he, giving to Andrew; Andrew, giving to him--Andrew drew Neil's hips further backward again and swallowed him up once more, this time intent on bringing him to completion.

He couldn't help himself. He couldn't help throwing his head back, biting his bottom lip, screwing his eyes shut. "Yes," Neil hissed, followed by a whimper, unable to stop canting his hips. "Haa--haa--uh--shit--shit--shit--An-Andrew--uh--"

His toes curled up, muscles contracting, elbows digging hard into the sheets, his knees ready to give any second, heart on overdrive as he spurt inside Andrew's wicked mouth. The goalkeeper continued to take more out of him, his determination sending shivers up Neil's core to the back of his neck. A hazy minute later, Neil was on his back, his face rubbing the side of Andrew's thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly to gain steady breaths.

All these years, sometimes it still surged as a mystery to him--how his old self was never responsive and hungry and afire until he'd gotten to know a certain Andrew Minyard. Never would have Neil imagined before Andrew that sex was something he would do, something he would seek; never would he have imagined before Andrew that sex was an affirmation, an avowal, a form of freedom, and a private bond between two attached and unbreakable feelings. And that there would never be an after-Andrew. This was permanent; this was only with Andrew.

Electrified and dazed, he lolled his head back, staring and unstaring up at the ceiling that was painted in shadows and a pale orange glow. Andrew had sat up, gazing down at Neil's spent form.

"Why? Wondering if we can try that sometime up on a rooftop?"

The goalkeeper tilted his head. "Yeah, because it's not your back that will rub at the concrete."

The striker gave him a small, lazy smile. "I'll bring us a picnic blanket."

"Last time I checked, we're not a fan of naked sun bathing."

"Hmm." Neil stroked Andrew's hip, then went for cupping his cock again, prompting a low hiss from Andrew's lips. "What are we a fan of, then?"

"Addictive fucking," was Andrew's automatic and easy answer, stating it matter-of-factly.

"And aren't we just hooked for that right now?" Neil teased.

And wasn't it just so fucking true that they were each other's addiction? In and out of bed, everywhere, whether clothed or naked, apart or touching, verbal or muted--an addiction they'd never ever need a rehab from. Neil had unclosed his legs, rapt on tempting Andrew inside him. Eyes darkened by desire, the goalkeeper engaged with Neil, stirring and budging, moving and entering and driving into the hot tightness.

Riding on sensual high, Neil treated himself with Andrew's exposed neck, latching his mouth at the crook of it, revelling at the grunts to the side of his auburn head and rushes of mighty thrusts he was receiving in effect. Fingers entwined, their hands were clasped together, pinned on either side of Neil's head, sweaty palms against each other. Andrew was rocking in him, alternating between measured pulls-and-pushes and intense ramming that had Neil chanting a series of abandoned cries and moans and praises.

But the best moments were when their lips fit together, smearing and passing heat off each other through their tongues. Andrew's strong body over Neil's was covered in sweat and the sheets under their connected weight were damp and crumpled in a beautiful mess. _Goodness_ , they were a gasping and wildly knotted mess, with the bed squeaking at each slam of their bodies, their bedroom virtually steaming at their union.

And then Andrew unchained the long and thorough kisses, his lashes heavy and dark, hazel eyes burning down at Neil. Blond hair catching on his wet forehead, brows in a downward wrinkle, with his expression open and raw and honest, Andrew was suddenly gritting his teeth, tensing his jaws, as his face twisted incandescently along his fervid thrusting--

" _Neil--_ "

Blue eyes blinked wide--utterly mesmerized. Struck, at the very second that Andrew's abdomen brushed intently against his trapped cock. Swollen lips apart, Neil's back almost bowed against the sheets, a current of blinding pleasure channeling through his veins. Neil spilled white honey a breathy moment right after Andrew overflowed in him.

For Neil, being with Andrew like this was a treasure discovered and a treasure cherished. Over and Over. Every single time, it felt like he'd never found anything more precious than baring their souls with each other this way: willing, feeling, trusting. Because there was deep-rooted devotion, and despite the occasional tinge of fear for emotion so huge, which just kept on growing and growing impossibly cosmic, there was--and would always be--flaming hope fixed in each contact of eyes, lips, skin, breaths, words, silence, heat. For every link, Neil felt they were everlastingly getting better and better together--staying close and closer, healing and renewing and completing one another.

It was nearing daylight, and neither had climbed off the bed yet to freshen themselves. They lay on their sides, bodies turned toward each other, drowsily awake, speechless for hours since they'd peaked in their entanglement, their toes touching the headboard of their stained and untidy bed.

Then Neil cut the sated silence. "Think Coach will mind it if we sleep in till lunch time?" he asked, his voice a little scratchy.

"Forget it. Burton will rap on our door around eight-thirty."

Neil's brows furrowed. "Yeah. Right." And their teammate would probably ask them to show him Arthur's pictures, since they both declined last night. "Guess we'll have to commission Kevin to make one of his own headlines this week." Kevin Day was still the most documented person in the Exy galaxy.

The edge of Andrew's mouth twitched. "He's going to be a useless decoy. One stupid line from the Queen, and it'll snowball from here."

Neil smiled ruefully. "Kind of reminds me how I was first exposed to the public."

"Because you're a natural and gifted magnet," Andrew said dryly.

Neil raised a brow coolly. "You and I are both magnets now... And Arthur will be one, as well."

Silence resonated in reflection, and the sunrays had streamed in through the gaps between the curtains. Neil touched Andrew's chest, feeling heartbeats beneath his palm, then he whispered the sensation blooming in his own chest:

"Arthur Nicholas Josten-Minyard."

He darted his eyes at Andrew and added, "He sounds so big."

After a pensive moment, Andrew put his hand over Neil's. "Maybe he will grow to become big," he said. And they both meant it in ways that encompassed their shared lives, their capacities, their responsibilities, in what they could give.

Neil's eyes fell closed. "Hm. Maybe."

And somehow, at this moment, it felt all right to muse about it--even when they hadn't been prepared for this, even when they couldn't yet take it all in completely--that with them, Arthur Nicholas, in his own way, could become a knight and a leader and a king.


	8. Chapter Eight

Andrew's sleek, black, and menacing SUV had been sitting at the rear parking lot of Grace Wood Center for nearly ten minutes now. It was the only car parked behind the five-storey white and blue building. About a one-hour drive away from their neighborhood, Grace Wood was a medical center catering to pediatric recoveries, which also co-housed foundlings who were aged eighteen months and below. It was where Arthur had been staying for the past several weeks since early June. In Grace Wood, he'd been dubbed "Baby JM" by the staff, in reference to the joint surname initials of the couple adopting him.

The door to the driver side of the SUV was wide open. Hot air blended with the chill gushing from the air conditioner. An elbow on his knee, Andrew's left hand was hanging outwardly, his second stick of cigarette slanted down between his fingers; he had his right forearm and elbow resting on the steering wheel. With his back on Neil, he was facing the grassy and tree-less expanse of land surrounding the medical center. He was hunched forward, staring at the brightening horizon, puffing every few moments away from the car interior.

In the passenger seat, Neil's half-lidded eyes were fixed on the goalkeeper's back, while he was repeatedly turning Arthur's drool-smelling Exy ball in his palm. They were wearing identical gray cotton t-shirts and black arm bands, though the striker was in his khaki cargo pants and Andrew had donned his black jeans. Both of them were wearing different ankle-cut leather boots. They hadn't agreed aloud on having a similar set of clothes, but such instances typically took place even without them having to talk about it; after a number of years of being together, things like this just happened instinctively. Neil shifted in his seat and checked the nearly-cloudless sky from his window. Given two hours later when the sun was high and blazing down the South, however, their clothes would fairly be uncomfortable, what with July's hot summer mornings.

It had been seven weeks since Neil and Arthur last saw one another in person, though it could have been seven years of distance with the way Neil's stomach had moiled earlier on the way to Grace Wood. He was positively nervous. Hours ago, during their flight back to Colorado, he'd dozed off beside Andrew and woke up with a start. From a nightmare? Not really. Suddenly hearing Arthur's mighty shrieks couldn't technically be considered a nightmare; nonetheless, it wasn't a pleasant dream, either. What he dreamt was a slice of memory, when the boy cried in the middle of the night by his side and Neil was jolted awake, unable to operate on the first basic step to calm the boy down. There was just something about Arthur's cries which always unsettled him. Those four days in May of taking care of the boy so far, and every second of those four days with him had already been etched to his subconscious.

And now, July 16th, it was: the day Arthur was coming home with them back to their apartment. It was the day Arthur was coming home as--unquestionably and officially--their little boy. Neil had been trying to visualize the reunion inside the medical center, but he couldn't foresee what Arthur's reaction to him would be. He wasn't sure if he had left that much of an impression on the boy in the few days that they'd been together at home to warrant instant recognition; the striker couldn't be certain even when Nicky said he and Erik had been showing Andrew and Neil's pictures to the boy through their tablets, among the other photos of the rest of the Foxes.

The soft rustle made the striker stir. Coolly, Andrew stuffed the butt of his cigarette in his portable ashtray. Neil pocketed the orange ball he was holding and took the manila folder from the dashboard. Their eyes met, and after a silent yet communicative second, Neil opened the passenger door, stepped out of the SUV, and shut the door. Andrew did the same, locked up, and slid his key in his pocket, then both of them headed toward the entrance, walking casually alongside each other.

The goalkeeper stepped a little closer and eyed Neil when they turned to the side of the building. "You carry him," he said. The striker directed him a quizzical glance back. "I just smoked. Twice in a row."

It'd taken a minute for it to sink in, and they were already stalking past the glass doors to the front desk by then. "Okay," said Neil. Until now, he hadn't considered that either of them reeking freshly of cigarette smoke would be unwise for Arthur. Adjustments to their new setup were being applied readily, though many other necessary adjustments had already taken place before today.

July first's revelation entailed that half the month was going to be a packing busy schedule. The adoption process was being expedited by the firm, as per the couple's wishes. At the same time, the two men had to keep up with most of their Exy commitments and evening matches, while monitoring the case and completing what was required of them so they could irrevocably have Arthur. There had been appointments that demanded both of their presence. Four times they had to fly back straightaway after a game, attend hours of preparatory parenting courses, and sit down for joint counseling. Other times, they would participate in sport events with little sleep and proceed to play hard afterward.

With all these engagements squeezed into the constant traveling and the current season's schedule, Andrew and Neil barely had a minute to mind what was happening beyond their immediate situation. They could hardly catch a cigarette moment without either phones ringing and beeping or vibrating, much less pay detailed attention to news. They decided to lie low even more than usual to minimize further distractions. All they knew from the management's updates was that there was a mountain of messages from the team's fans, some offers came in for broadcast and webcast interviews which were declined, and that _King Arthur of Exy_ had usurped _Jealous Josten_ 's high spot among the sports-related trends on the Internet. Henry said the general public's response was mixed, though the positive outweighed the negative--the "negative" being of doubtful nature. Andrew and Neil didn't give a shit to what other people's doubts were about their setup. The couple had been focusing on one thing, and one thing only: getting Arthur under their full protection.

The afternoon before the team's away match on the 14th, Andrew received the fateful call from their lawyer. It was during a thirty-minute break following a pre-match conditioning. Both he and Neil were back inside their hotel suite, about to snatch a much-needed power nap on opposite sofas at the sitting room. They planned to contact Vivian Harnett after the nap to check on developments, only they didn't have to anymore. After the second ring, the goalkeeper answered and put his phone on loudspeaker automatically as it lay on the center of the coffee table.

There was no hello or any considerable greeting from the lawyer at the onset of the call. "Can you two manage to free a day this weekend?" Harnett had asked. Neil sat up at once; Andrew leaned forward, brows furrowed. Neither prompted the lawyer because she continued speaking quickly in a pleased tone, "That is, if you plan to pick up your son within this week."

To Neil, the feeling that rushed through following that sentence was odd, and simply indescribable. His attention snapped at Andrew, both their eyes widening a fraction, a breath passing through their lips, mouths ajar, and their bodies still for an instant.

"It's done," said Andrew.

"Yes," said Harnett. "At last. The approval has been granted an hour ago. We just finalized the papers for registry. Identification, passport, and certificates should come through soon. Shall I mail them to your home address since you're--"

"I'll get them at your office."

"All right. Noted," Harnett said. "And at this time, we are setting up an appointment date and time for your son's release from Grace Wood. I'm assuming you want it to be immediate. You can get him anytime from now, we just have to notify the admin in the center. They'll have you sign papers, and..."

As Harnett carried on speaking and upon hearing additional details, an invisible weight had completely lifted off Neil's shoulders. He only realized how heavy the weight had been because of the stark lightness of relief that was threatening to sweep Neil off his feet. The goalkeeper tilted his head at him. As much as they would like to leave right after the game tonight, the couple must attend an endorsement fair with their team next morning prior to another post-lunch signing session. Moreover, they couldn't just go without discussing the matter with their head coach and manager; it wouldn't be a simple baby fetch, because Andrew and Neil would need a little time off the court afterward.

"Sunday," said Neil, looking back at Andrew. "We'll get Arthur Nicholas on Sunday, early morning."

"That could work," said Harnett, unmoved that Neil was also speaking with her through the call. "There shouldn't be a lot of people possibly snooping around on a weekend before regular office hours."

There was an additional talk as to what the center would ask from the couple to process the release. When the conversation was finished, Andrew stood up resolutely. "I'll talk to Ursula," he said, then left the suite. Neither player got to have his power nap before the game.

They might really be stretching it, if the management's perspective was to be considered. Two key players missing an important game together was a risk, but the couple had made up their minds. They would rather be fined for their absence than let their affairs at home remain unsteady any longer, and affect their routine and stability. So far, their teammates had been sympathetic with their circumstances, generally saying that they were rather amazed that Andrew and Neil could still get up on their feet for each match they'd been playing since July started.

In his own way, Andrew was able to convince Coach Griffiths and Ursula to give them the leave, so they could _finally_ "settle private things." Once again, however, their head coach was an annoyed bear at the two of them.

"What happened to my new rule?" he had grumbled on the 15th, during their 6:00 to 7:00 a.m. cardio and weights drill.

"Don't worry, Coach," Andrew said while on the treadmill. "There won't be LOAs after this month."

"Is that so?" Coach Griffiths replied in a sardonic tone as he stood before the goalkeeper, his hairy arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah," Andrew said, "because you might be the one to take the next flight and babysit Arthur when the situation calls."

Their teammates laughed audibly at the joke, though it had been flatly delivered by the goalkeeper. Neil smiled, sending a side glance as Coach Griffiths cursed under his breath, mumbling something about how his own ungrateful player was now giving him nanny duty, when he himself hadn't been able to feed a single cereal to his own daughter due to his demanding career.

"Careful, Coach," Shayne crooned while on the other treadmill. "It could really happen."

The snickers and teeters that followed were paid by a forty-five minute extension to the morning drills. Yes, Coach Griffiths was such a good sport with his team. But they still somehow liked him. He was the most tolerant an ex-Raven and professional coach could ever be in the business.

Neil reckoned the management also allowed them the downtime partly because of the commendations the team's brand was receiving from sports reviewers, their loyalists, and Exy communities. After all, not every professional Exy team was accommodating enough of the personal lives and familial setups of their athletes. Not every team would permit interference with season reliability, especially if the setup affecting it was leaning toward the non-traditional.

Penalties weren't given at all. There was a catch to the leniency, however. Andrew and Neil had to be covered in a feature story by a widely-circulated sports journal. Nothing personal, was what they said. It was meant to rake in further promotion for their individual and collective brands. Piece by piece, it felt like they were following Kevin's footsteps into embracing and using vast exposure in their professions.

"Don't get used to it," Andrew had icily warned Henry and the rest of the PR staff on their anticipation.

They had been given a choice: a TV special or a print feature. The couple chose the project that wouldn't put them on live broadcast, wherein hosts could throw questions outside the script and forego a cut. Ursula concurred easily. "It's exactly the safest option for you two," she had said. Apparently, she wouldn't test and gamble for them, wary to get a repeat of the Grau incident with the striker.

Andrew and Neil eluded the press after Friday night's match, in the manner that they'd always been doing since July 1st. Their non-attendance would be revealed on a Tuesday morning, the day of the upcoming game itself next week. Coach Griffiths would take over the explanation to the media. In the first place, it shouldn't be a cause for wonder anymore. After the _King Arthur_ statement and the follow-up responses of the team, their audiences would conveniently conclude that the two famous athletes were busy with their new family.

Even the Moriyamas should get the idea behind a single time-out from Neil. They had been reasonable for several years, if Kevin Day and Jean Moreau's reliability records for each season were to be regarded. Both of them had their own documented skips before, too. As long as Neil and the other two athletes were to remain steadily visible all throughout each season, while working within limited absences and remitting the commission from their salaries and endorsement projects, then everything was great and sweet. They would live and outlive their hidden contracts.

During his first year as a professional striker, Neil would sometimes be anxious whenever he went through a rough game. There were matches when he feared getting a severe injury that could end his career in a blink of an eye and fuck up his contract with Ichirou. But since then, he had long grown to be careful with his body while retaining his playing style. And now that he was 25, he had already learned to cope with Ichirou's condition without letting it control the rest of his life. Kevin was also doing well. Money had never been their real motivation to play Exy, anyway. Besides, what was left in their pockets was still a sensible chunk of fortune. Neil himself was never a big spender.

This Sunday before dawn, Erik had fetched them from the airport on Neil's car, a black sedan-type that was less noticeable than Andrew's quasi-monster tank. They went straight to the apartment afterward to collect the papers needed, had some coffee, a moment with the cats, and changed their clothes after a quick shave and wash. A chirpy Nicky had cooked them a loaded meaty breakfast, a cheat to the athletes' prescribed diet. And when his cousin and Neil were about to leave and pick up Arthur, Nicky was already bringing in large boxes to the living room. Neil suspected they were full of items meant for the boy's homecoming; it seemed Nicky hadn't slept a wink at all the entire night because of his excitement.

Grace Wood seemed like a low-key center with a cozy ambiance, despite their round-the-clock operations. There were scarcely visitors and families of patients present when the couple entered and waited briefly at the lobby. Once their appointment was verified, they were led by a young personnel into the head office on the third floor, introducing them to Mrs. Hilda Bell. She appeared to be a polite and efficient middle-aged administrator. Without initiating idle chat, she was fast to check Arthur's file and matched the papers they brought. If she'd ever come to know the couple through their prominence, she didn't give a hint. She neither mentioned their careers nor alluded to it; she didn't even regard either man differently than she probably would a regular associate.

While the couple were filling in the release log forms in her office, Neil's phone rang up. The ring was an abrupt noise in the quiet atmosphere of the office. He pulled up his phone from his pants' side pocket quickly. But even before he got to check the screen, he'd already guessed that it'd be Nicky who had dialed him.

 "Is Arthur with you already?" was the antsy and breathless question that greeted Neil as soon as he answered the call.

"Not yet," said Neil, glancing up at Mrs. Bell. He and Andrew were sitting opposite each other in leather armchairs before her large wooden desk. She only smiled back at him, then continued to stamp and sign the documents in the manila folder that they'd submitted to her.

"But have you seen him?" Nicky said speedily. "He's at that yellow room painted with Mickey Mouses on the second floor next to the small play area."

"Not yet."

"Arthur's still not discharged?"

"Not y--"

Andrew snagged Neil's phone, mildly startling him. " _Wait_ ," the goalkeeper told, or rather warned, his cousin sharply before he hung up. He then handed back Neil's phone before filling in the last box on his form.

With the paperwork accomplished without further delay, the administrator asked the couple to wait a few minutes. Andrew had opted that Arthur be brought to them directly in the office, in lieu of getting him where other children and medical staff were present. Neil agreed. No matter how implausible in this instance, it was better not to chance another Baby Doe moment for Andrew. Just recalling that time made Neil queasy, when Neil himself was already faintly tense while waiting for Arthur.

There were two cups of coffee and cookies on the low table between the airmchairs beside five stacks of various health brochures. Neither man touched the beverage. "I think it's impossible," the striker said after a while. He was facing the wall covered with several posters, all of which were info-charts about a child's development and the benefits of breastfeeding for six months up to two years. "To join the summer reunion."

Arms folded over his chest, Andrew tilted his head. He'd been scanning the whole office with narrowed eyes for the past few minutes. "Just like it is with the other Foxes."

"This will frustrate Allison again. A full-blast reunion at the Hamptons is one of her birthday wishes." All the same, it was also the Foxes' wish to meet one another again; and since it was Allison's birthday today, there'd be a discussion sooner or later on the state of the reunion plans. For now, Andrew and Neil still had some thinking to do. They hadn't yet prepared a gift to send Allison to her penthouse in New York City.

"It's not the year she gets all that she wants," the goalkeeper said, his shoulders stiff.

"Perhaps you should at least video call her later."

Andrew rested a critical look at Neil. "For what?"

Neil shrugged, tapping his fingers on his knee. "Greet her live? You've never done it before."

"It won't satisfy her."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll want more than that."

The door swung open right before Neil could ask what that more could be. The couple turned their heads immediately to the people who came in. The administrator entered with a broad grin on her face for an early morning shift. Hands clasped down in front of her, she then went to stand to the side near the book shelves. Walking in behind her was a short male nurse clad in a pale pink uniform. There was a green bag hanging from his shoulder to his waist, and secured in his hold was a meek and healthy-looking baby, facing the center of the office, his big eyes focused to where the couple were.

Andrew and Neil looked back at him. Getting up from their chairs at the same second was automatic. It wasn't a sudden movement; from the two of them, it was a reaction that was composed yet unerringly resolute. Neil couldn't move his sight to anything else for a moment. Their boy had monopolized their attention.

Arthur was sucking at his tiny fat fingers, coating them in drool, his round eyes luminous and as icy blue as a winter sky under his fair eyebrows. His wavy hair was as platinum bright as Neil remembered it was. His freckles were as light as before, peppered across his small nose and dotting his high and curvy forehead. The dark blue jumper over white tee that he was wearing made him seem more radiant. Neil recognized it from the photos Erik had forwarded; it was an outfit Nicky had bought for Arthur Nicholas for this very occasion.

 _Arthur Nicholas_. His name was the only sound that echoed inside him as he and Andrew walked closer toward him. _Arthur Nicholas Josten-Minyard._ Legitimate and carved in stone.

Standing in front of him, the striker absorbed their boy's large presence before he glanced at the nurse holding him. The latter smiled and nodded knowingly, then Neil lifted and stretched out his hands, taking Arthur cautiously into his arms. _Gracious_ , he was bigger and heavier now than when Neil had last carried him. But he smelled very much the same way--the mixed scent of mild talcum powder and fresh pillow and cotton. To Neil now, this scent was distinctly that of the baby boy who belonged with him and Andrew.

Neil's heart was fluttery, and he kind of wished he didn't understand why. He held his breath and braced himself, although he couldn't really fathom how these skepticisms were worming in his head and where they were coming from: What would Neil do if Arthur decided that he didn't want to be held by him? What would he do if the boy thought him a complete stranger and cried and lashed against him within seconds? What would Neil do if one day Arthur Nicholas realized that he didn't like _Josten_ in his name?

All sorts of uncertainties were afloat once again. They rose like black smoke around Neil in an instant, but they vanished in a flash, too. As soon as the boy's weight had connected firmly against his chest, Arthur looked up at him, pulled down his wet fingers from his mouth, and after a moment, he smiled openly, flaunting a remarkable speck of a tooth growing on his upper gum. Then he squeaked unintelligibly as his eyes crinkled. Neil blinked and flinched, feeling something unbelievable well up in his bosom and stomach. The alien sensation traveled down to his limbs, pooling to the tips of his toes and fingers.

Arthur remembered him. And he seemed glad to see Neil again.

Watching them from a few steps away, the administrator chuckled with a hand to her chest. "I believe your son is home," she said merrily. "Mr. Minyard, Mr. Josten, our office wishes your family a wonderful summer." Giving them a moment of privacy, Mrs. Bell then strode out of the room, followed by the male nurse who gave the green bag to Andrew and waved his goodbye to the couple and Arthur.

Once the door was shut after them, Andrew closed in on Neil, but stopped at a foot's distance. He studied their boy, whose left hand was fisting below the striker's collar, while his head was tilted to the side toward the goalkeeper, sight fixed at him. There they went again: Andrew and Arthur were having another round of their staring match. Neither was smiling; neither was frowning. Strangely, it was like they were figuring things out together without the aid of words. Neil understood it as their own way of connecting to each other.

And then the boy leaned in, ducked his head bashfully, and rested his face on Neil's chest. Sucking his right thumb, he made a low noise from his throat, which might pass as a sentence meant for the goalkeeper. Nobody spoke for a couple of minutes. And when somebody did, it was Neil.

He shot Andrew a mild look. "Arthur's smarter now, huh?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Andrew turned for the door and shouldered the green bag. "He's going to be even smarter."

The drive back to the apartment was plenty memorable. It was something Neil hadn't foreseen, indeed. He was at the backseat with Arthur on his lap because the boy had been utterly restless and whiny when Neil tried putting him in his attached baby seat. Earlier, the striker was about to let him cry there so long as he was safely tucked at the back, but when he was bending down and fastening the belt around the boy's belly, Arthur squealed, reached up, and tugged a handful of his auburn hair. And boy did it sting Neil's scalp because Arthur wouldn't untangle those naughty fingers from his head. Andrew just watched them placidly from the driver seat, not offering any assistance.

"Oh, sh--" Neil promptly bit his bottom lip before a slip of an expressive word came out. The counselor had advised them to avoid the accidental nasty language in front of the child, as much as possible. "Okay. Let go now, Arthur," he said in a placating tone. The baby cried indignantly in return. "All right, all right. Fine, no belts and no cramped seat." It took some more painful hair tugging before the boy was convinced and relaxed his grip on Neil. The whole thing lasted a while. Andrew drove away quietly when they were settled at the back. Arthur was now behaving like a sweet and content child while the striker played tug-of-ball with him. He would even rub his round and rosy face against Neil's stomach to convey his delight.

"I honestly can't tell if Arthur Nicholas likes me or hates me," Neil commented. He saw Andrew shake his head from the rear-view mirror.

"He likes you so much that he can't help bullying you dearly."

Neil rolled his eyes. "Isn't that just great?" he returned Andrew's impassive sarcasm.

"Let's hope the media doesn't get wind of such stories, since it contradicts your hard-boiled Exy image."

"Right. You know who they'd rather capture together with him candidly."

"Hm. I may have to teach Arthur soon on how to throw bull's-eye balls to prying cameras."

The striker snorted. "Don't, or scouts will recruit him for baseball little leagues instead." And some people would question the boy's inspirational upbringing. Such possibilities were packed with the box of fame.

Andrew quirked the end of his lips. "So what? His so-called 'Daddy Josten of Exy' won't be welcoming to other sports?"

"Kevin Day will not be welcoming to other sports. I can imagine he'll bother me to no end about it. He's serious about the prep-Exy classes." Arthur patted Neil's chest as he sprayed drool on his t-shirt before his jolly babbling. Did he even understand what his grown-ups were saying? Sighing, Neil wiped Arthur's mouth and hands. He fed him a couple biscuits in bits, which Arthur ate eagerly. There was a utility bag stuffed with wipes, tissues, and a few diapers within access from the floor of the backseat. Beside it was a small medkit. "Do that when Kevin's around, will you?" he told the boy softly before he had him drinking from his water bottle. "Just make it more drooly when you meet him."

They arrived at the apartment with Arthur near the backdoor, supported by Neil's hands to his sides. He was standing atop his thighs, curiously peering out the tinted window across the parking lot. Andrew opened the door for Neil. He got the the green bag they'd been given at Grace Wood, which contained Arthur's health records such as his vaccination book and latest checkup results aside from his clothes and bottles. Heat was felt right away when Neil got out of the SUV and its cool space. It was barely mid-morning, but the sun was promising to be smoldering in another hour or two.

As they rode up the elevator to their floor, the striker made sure to face Arthur away from his head. He'd noticed how the boy was fonder of grabbing things now, in addition to his new penchant for pinching. Arthur was also bouncier and more active. Neil could only imagine how he'd be like when he's already walking and running.

Upon reaching their door, the goalkeeper stepped ahead of them to tap and enter their code onto the security pad on the wall. There was a short beep as the door unlocked, to which Arthur chirped at the sound. From the hall, they went straight into the living room, and the first thing that registered to Neil were the large and colorful cut-out letters plastered on the white wall adjacent to where the flat screen TV was attached. _Welcome Home Arthur_ , it said. There was a padded play pen that took up a square space near the sofas and couches. Inside it were plush toys, various throw pillows, and different kinds of crafted wood that were shaped into animals, ships, and other objects. Hands on his hips, Nicky had been humming while tricking the music buttons on a small orange walker. His face lit up at once when he saw them come in.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Nicky gushed, his voice high and slightly aquiver. He wielded out his phone at them, swiftly taking their pictures in series as he bounded on his heels. "Baby Arthur's back! Oh dear, look at you three! Wow!" Neil blinked from where he stood, surprised by the sudden shots that nobody could probably stop, not even Andrew. "These are for the first page of his scrapbook," said Nicky, looking as ecstatic as a lottery winner. "You three should really start collecting pictures together! You know, for growing-up memories."

"Uhm, yeah," said Neil, his voice suddenly croaky. "You're right." He hadn't gotten around to buying a binder for Arthur yet. He wasn't sure how different filing was from creating a scrapbook.

"Rest assured I'm gonna help you amass a million pictures while we're here," Nicky beamed.

Dropping the green bag to the floor, Andrew sat down on the nearest couch and squinted at the picture books laid out on the coffee table. He took one book from the pile and scanned the content with a guarded expression, as though he'd never seen such published materials before, which was more than true anyway. The striker recalled that they'd also been advised during the prep classes to get into the habit of reading aloud to the boy. They still hadn't discussed who'd be up for it in the coming days and what specific books to read to him.

"Oh, those? Erik and I found them the other day," Nicky said, his hands linked in a clap. "We previewed each title last night. Arthur will love them, especially that funny red one with the candy and cake house on the cover. It's about a doughnut superhero. Cute, huh? And then there's this..." and so went on Nicky's chatter. With his attention on a book, Andrew was now leaving Neil to handle his cousin's enthusiasm. A moment later, Erik showed up, folded his arms over his chest, and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. He greeted the couple and observed his husband with a fond smile.

With Arthur quietly looking around at the toys in the room, Neil cleared his throat twice. Only then did Nicky stop talking. The striker walked to him with the boy in his arms. "Want to hold Arthur for a while?" he said, giving Nicky a small smile.

"Yeah," Nicky said elatedly, "of course!"

"Here you go," said Neil as he transferred Arthur to him.

"And here he goes. With his one and only Uncle Nicky." Nicky bounced Arthur in his arms. The boy cooed at him and chuckled, just as friendly and also very much familiar with the man. "Hello there, handsome baby. Miss us? Did you miss your daddies? I bet you did. And even though they're not being obvious..." Nicky sent the couple a sly look. "I bet your daddies missed you, too. See? What do you say, huh, Arthur?"

Arthur made a sound close to "waa."

Neil said, "It's not only _Arthur_."

"Hm?" Nicky turned his head at the striker who was standing before him with a vague expression.

"His name," Neil pointed out, tipping his head at the boy. Nicky's brows drew down, distractedly puzzled for a moment while he was lightly bouncing the boy in his arms. Then Neil said unhurriedly, "It's actually _Arthur Nicholas_."

Nicky froze unblinkingly. He was unmoving for a second, for moments, for a minute, in spite of Arthur's noises and pinches on his cheek. The hush that fell in the living room felt too long. Neil looked over his shoulder at Erik, who shot him back a broad and supportive grin, seemingly unaffected by Nicky's reaction.

And then Nicky, probably having recovered after the lengthy silence, stuttered, "Arthur... Arthur Ni-Nicholas."

"Yes."

"His middle name," he enunciated slowly, as though there had just been a peculiarly scientific concept that was sprang to him, "is Nicholas."

"Yes. It's Nicholas," said Neil, gradually feeling hesitant with the conversation. "Nicholas, as in your first name." He was close to asking if the former backliner of the Foxes didn't wish to share his name with a nephew. Until today, he and Andrew hadn't yet told the Foxes Arthur's full name. The news was supposed to make it later today or tomorrow morning. The Foxes were only aware that it was Andrew who chose the name Arthur for the baby.

In perceptible doubt, Nicky chewed his lip, then tilted his head toward his cousin on the couch, wordlessly asking for confirmation, for the proof of Andrew's approval. Elbows on his knees, Andrew was still busy inspecting the picture books on the table, perusing them like the topic of the current talk was as usual as the hot weather outside. Without staring back, the goalkeeper just said nonchalantly, "I didn't think you had a hearing problem, Nicky."

And it was at that moment then, right after Andrew had said his cousin's name, that Nicky's face twisted and his voice broke into a low sob, his lips trembling. The striker was inwardly alarmed because another sob followed as Nicky hugged Arthur to his chest. Tears welled up richly in his dark eyes. Eyes closed, he held the boy's head affectionately, his cheek brushing against the boy's temple. Before Neil had informed Nicky of Arthur's middle name, he was expecting a jovial response from him, something along pride and cheery disbelief, but not _this_. This was a burst of deeply-rooted and profound emotions from Nicky that Neil could never ever forget in his lifetime.

Erik approached his husband, gently brushed the cooing boy's hair with his palm, and kissed Nicky on the forehead. "He's Arthur Nicholas, love," he whispered endearingly.

Nicky nodded, unclosed his eyes, stray tears wandering down his cheek, which Arthur unknowingly daubed with his fingers while catching his uncle's focus with his own indecipherable sounds. A soft, teary chuckle escaped Nicky. He patted the boy's back, then he looked at Neil and next at Andrew for a long, long moment. "Thank you," he said to them in a breathy voice, first in English, then in German.

The striker shifted on his feet, slid his hands in his pockets, and shook his head faintly. He glanced at Andrew, whose fair brows were wrinkled. He was still posed in reading, except his eyes were not moving horizontally anymore. Neil knew he was listening and absorbing what was taking place. Neil wished to say that they should be the ones thanking Nicky and Erik for being with them, for being their family. What he said in German was, "Arthur Nicholas is also one of yours. You two are his uncles."

The corners of Nicky's mouth curved up, and he sniffed, then chuckled once again, switching back to English. "Little Arthur Nicholas, you have us, your whole family." He adjusted his hold on the boy and smiled toothily at him. "And we promise to make you really, really happy."

Sir Fat Cat McCatterson decided to have his appearance then by jumping onto the coffee table and claiming his self-declared rightful spot on Andrew's lap. The goalkeeper scowled down at their fat pet. He lifted him with both hands as he got up on his feet.

"Next unit," he said.

"I'll get there in a minute," Neil said.

When Andrew was out of the living room and the door to the apartment beeped to close and lock, Erik asked, "What's he going to do there?"

"That's empty, right?" Nicky crouched down, trying to put Arthur in the walker. Erik kneeled on the floor to help him and guide the baby's legs through the loops. Arthur coldn't stand alone yet let alone walk, but keeping him in the walker for a while each day should accustom him to the posture of standing and sitting up straight. "This floor is kinda lonely actually. You don't have neighbors here."

"Yeah, it's empty next door, but the place is still covered residence with us. It remains furnished and has functional air conditioning. Andrew plans to tidy it up." Neil sat on the couch that Andrew had just vacated. There was only one guestroom in their apartment, since the other spare rooms were dedicated to fitness space, storage for clothes and gear, and office-study. The office-study room was spacious and en suite, so it'd be the one they'd have to redecorate as Arthur's bedroom. "Aaron and Katelyn might come over this week."

"Really?" Nicky perked up, sitting back on his heels.

"I told Katelyn yesterday about the approval and all. She said they could look into possibly getting a day off or two to see Arthur."

"That would be nice," said Erik.

"But she's not that certain yet," said Neil. "I think Aaron's schedule is trickier than hers this month."

"Crossing my fingers now," said Nicky, literally crossing his fingers in both hands. "Geez, it's gonna be awesome to have them around with us even for just a day. It'd be like our own mini-reunion."

"Hm. She'll contact us again tonight to confirm their plans."

Half of the morning and the early afternoon was spent in cleaning up the next door unit with Andrew. It was smaller than their own apartment; however, the place was still more than agreeable and suitable for guests, if they didn't mind the minimalist effect of the lack of accessories, decors, and leisure appliances. The floral wallpapers were intact and easy on the eyes. The leather sofas weren't moldy. Faucets and lights were working. Water and electricity were available. There were two bedrooms with connected bathrooms, and it'd be up to their visitors to choose which room they'd prefer to sleep in. If Aaron and Katelyn were to stay, Andrew and Neil would just have to bring in blankets, sheets, dishes, utensils, and some groceries.

Erik had prepared their lunch: Caesar salad, chicken with peas, fish fillet, and banana chips. Their little boy could eat soft solids now, like mashed fruit, pressed potatoes, and bits of crackers. Nicky fed him a couple tablespoons of solids, in addition to his milk. He kept him company from morning till after lunch. By two-thirty in the afternoon, Arthur was exhausted from playing the myriad of toys that Nicky had given him. Neil discovered that there were a lot more toys plus clothes in the storage and utility room. The upside was that Arthur would get too diverted with every new object that there should be not much time for teething tantrum--at least, that's what Neil hoped.

He'd taken over watching Arthur after the boy's brief nap. He fed him milk when he woke up and changed his diaper. They spent the afternoon together, while Erik and Nicky became occupied with work updates on their gadgets. Neil was able to read Exy updates and load Kevin and Matt's most recent match on his laptop as the boy at his feet crawled to the corners of the bedroom and touched a docile King Fluffkins's back. He didn't think Arthur had cat allergies, since there was no sneezing and itching so far with the pet within his reach. Nevertheless, Neil had to see to it that the cat didn't act up and scratch the baby, so he ended up not really viewing the game streaming on his browser.

At five, Andrew had finished his workout in the fitness room. He took a quick shower then went on to cook dinner, going for large cuts of beef stew and steamed broccoli. Neil had gone for a long run before the meal instead of having a two-hour workout at their fitness room. Erik babysat Arthur while the couple were busy. Nicky fell asleep on the couch with his tablet on his stomach. His excitement from last night seemed to have caught up with him. He was only woken up in time for supper; he'd been a bit groggy while eating, but was back to his usual self after dessert.

Andrew washed the dishes. Nicky stayed in the kitchen to feed the cats. The cousins had been left alone for their one-on-one conversation. In the mean time, Erik helped Neil with Arthur's bath. "He really likes water," he had told the striker in German, which was true considering how much the boy gleefully splashed bath water onto Neil's clothes. "And it looks like he enjoys playing in it with you," Erik had added with amusement, before he snapped a picture or two of them. "His first bath with one of his fathers."

"He doesn't stay still whenever he's soaked in his tub?" Neil asked, rubbing his forehead with a soapy hand.

"With you? I'm afraid not so much."

At past ten o'clock, Nicky and Erik drove to town to have a few drinks in a music bar. There was an acoustic jazz performance until one in the morning that they'd been planning to watch since late June. The married couple had already purchased two tickets in advance from back then, but a moment before they left the apartment, they were quite hesitant to go out on a date on Arthur's first night back home.

"It's okay," Neil had reassured them. "Today is still a part of your vacation. Plus Arthur is going to bed soon, anyway."

Nicky and Erik did get to stroll around and visit many interesting places in nearly two months that they'd been staying over at their place; however, the striker knew there could've been much more trips for them and meetings with the other Foxes if they hadn't canceled their plans for Arthur. It was only right that they enjoy themselves as couple, too, until it was time for them to head back to Germany.

After they left, Neil began sorting the dirty clothes for laundry the next day. He returned to the master bedroom shortly afterward. Andrew was on their bed, wearing a white t-shirt and black sweatpants, his legs stretched out relaxedly, one ankle crossed over the other. He was leaning against the headboard with a long pillow on his back. The lamps on either side of the bed were on. Arthur was still awake and sitting on his lap, changed into more comfortable white clothes with a pacifier in his mouth. He was quiet and wide-eyed, fascinated by the tablet Andrew was holding down in front of him. The light of the screen reflected on his round face.

"Playing?" asked the striker as he removed his t-shirt.

"E-mails. Coach, Harnett, and Pemberton." He looked up at Neil. "Betsy is arriving on Tuesday."

"What time?"

"Lunch."

Neil nodded. "I can fetch her from the airport." He took a shower, then changed into a green printed t-shirt, which Renee had sent him last year for his birthday, and blue cotton shorts. The cats were already on the edge of the bed. He mimicked Andrew's pose and settled beside him. The deep crib was all set up a couple steps away from the bed. It was completely white, the wood and thick padding and small pillows in it. Arthur's Exy ball was the only color inside.

The striker tilted his head toward Andrew. Andrew returned the gesture, eyes cast down at Neil's lips. They both leaned in, their mouths meeting for a chaste kiss that lasted a moment. They broke the contact languidly, both knowing it was not the time for proceeding beyond that.

"Have you logged in to the board yet?" Neil asked as he retrieved his phone from the charging dock on his nightstand.

But Andrew didn't get to reply to him because his tablet suddenly sounded for an incoming video call. Arthur flinched at the noise, eyes big. Neil glanced down at the screen. It was Allison.

The goalkeeper pursed his lips into a straight line. "The birthday girl demands what she wants," he remarked dryly before answering the call and angling the tablet to accommodate Neil, without moving Arthur from his lap.

Allison's face and upper half popped up, dominating the screen. She looked like your average Allison: impeccable, lovely, royal in a sleeveless gold sequined dress, seated in a plush leather chair. And when she saw what was on the other side of the video correspondence, her lined eyelids stretched back and her red lips slowly parted to make a small o. Andrew and Neil didn't throw her the greetings anymore.

"Happy birthday to me!" she cheered sarcastically after her inarticulate second. " _Fudge!_ Pinch me now. Don't I just have the best timing in the world?" At least, Allison censored herself. She must be doing the same thing when Tobias was around.

"Look at that," Andrew said blandly.

"Jesus, wait an eff-ing second." She frowned in concentration, seeming to do something on her pad. Her lips twisted in satisfaction. "There, screenshot accomplished," she declared before she scrunched up her nose. "Even though nobody's freaking smiling on this."

"Happy now, old Fox?" said Andrew.

"For now? Yes," she said smartly, inclining her head to the side with an arched brow. "So much so that I'll forget those last two words you've just spouted."

With his forehead wrinkling, Neil eventually got it. He looked at Andrew. "The screenshot is our gift? Nothing else?"

"Exactly, Josten," said Allison. "Totally priceless. Literally."

"Huh." Neil supposed she negotiated the gift when she'd been calling Andrew during his one-month absence from the Court.

"But gosh, Nicky's right. Your Arthur's a beautiful baby. Makes me wanna have him over our house next weekend. God knows Tobias needs a little Fox friend. Most kids he sees here are major stuckups."

Andrew snorted at that. "Aren't you busy jet-setting for your fashion shows?"

"Saturday's gonna be good. And we have a caretaker and tutor. They're nice and qualified, complete with masters degree and recognition."

"No doubt."

"If you must know. In case you're worried."

"I'm not," Andrew said inexpressively. "He's not going anywhere around your area next weekend."

"Maybe when Arthur's older?" Neil followed up to the goalkeeper's refusal.

Allison sighed softly, eyebrows raising. "Of course. Well, I'm actually expecting this kind of response. How predictable from you people. Just wanna tell you Arthur is welcome here anytime. Hopefully, he visits her Aunt Allison with his two dads."

"We were just about to talk to you about the reunion," said Neil. "It looks like the rest of our summer is going to be inflexible."

Allison puffed her cheeks, nodding to herself in reflection. "Mm, Dan and I had a discussion on this yesterday. Renee called me, too, this morning. And yes, it seems the whole Foxes cannot have it this summer. Reunion's not canceled, though. Just postponed. We'll coordinate calendars for winter--" Allison suddenly turned her head to the side, seemingly caught by something. A different voice was then heard through the call. "I'll be right there," she said to the person who got her attention before she looked back at Andrew and Neil. "Okay, a party's going on up until who knows what time, and I am to grace the guests again with my presence. Just thought I'd check on you, guys. Till next time?"

"Yes. Happy birthday." Neil gave her a small smile. Andrew was impassive. Arthur was just studying Allison with interest. And the cats were still on the edge of the bed, content to lick their fur.

"Thanks! Oh, and one more thing, do log in more often to the board, will you? You're missing a lot of talk. Every Fox is curious how the homecoming went."

"Will post later," said Neil.

As soon as Allison's video call ended, Neil's phone beeped in his hand. "It's Katelyn," he told Andrew. The latter set aside his tablet and shifted Arthur on his lap so the boy was facing Neil. He reached for something from his side of the bed by the pillow on his back, getting a foot-long stuffed toy, which was actually a stuffed sword. It had a fluffy yellowish-brown hilt and a downy off-white length. Neil eyed it as he said, "Says they'll be here by tomorrow afternoon. Around three."

"We should see Pemberton in the morning, then."

"Did you buy that?" asked the striker.

"No, it comes with a set of silly princely costumes that Nicky ordered online last month." Andrew presented the toy to Arthur. The boy held it with both hands and stared at the fluffy sword in wonder.

Neil touched the toy, feeling the feathery material with his fingers. He smiled. "Guess, this sword's all right. Harmless."

"It'd have to do until he could handle a real stick. And until he could be enrolled to self-defense lessons."

The striker replied to Katelyn and put his phone back to charge on the nightstand. He moved to lie down on his back, brushing his fingertip on Arthur's puffy cheek. The boy beamed up at him, dropped his pacifier and tapped his fluffy sword with his little fingers, babbling to the toy.

"It'd have to do until his Andrew could teach him," said Neil. "But we're not enrolling him to learn every martial arts style, are we?"

Andrew shrugged, though he seemed amused by the prospect. "Depends on how much he has to know in the future." His forearm was reassuringly around Arthur's belly to prevent him from toppling forward. He took his tablet from the bedside table, continuing what he'd been at before Allison had called.

Neil turned to his side, fully facing the goalkeeper and their boy. He was drinking in this quiet and snug setting of their expanded home. Protecting Arthur Nicholas started as an unspoken deal, that he and Andrew would keep him close and away from danger. From now on, they were raising him to be the best person that he could be, and in return... There wasn't anything they'd really wish in return from the boy, except possibly a lasting familial bond from him with them. And then it dawned on Neil--wasn't that how it was like? How it's like to become a true parent to a child. It's early to tell from here; however, this casual scene on their bed tonight, with Arthur and the cats with him and Andrew, felt right. It felt real and warm. It felt complete.

His eyelids were soon falling heavy. Exhaustion was pulling him in, and before his body gave in to the summons of deep sleep, he lifted Arthur's pacifier and placed it back in his mouth. Still entertained by his pseudo-Excalibur, Arthur readily sucked at the pacifier.

"Do you want me to put him in his crib now?" Andrew asked, staring down at Neil.

Neil darted up his eyes at him. Arthur was in his early teething period, which meant he might, or surely, stir awake in the holy hours of the night and burst into a cry that would startle the couple, especially so if the boy was asleep on their bed again. Neil remembered his dream during the flight. His heart beat fast at the thought of experiencing it all over again. But watching Arthur's fondness for his fluffy sword gave him a fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

His eyes closed as he whispered back to Andrew, "Arthur Nicholas can stay. He can sleep here tonight."

Till morning, Arthur, with his fluffy sword, had slept soundly and sweetly on the middle of the bed, without waking Andrew and Neil with a single cry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reads, kudos, and comments! ♥ Happy holidays. :)


	9. Chapter Nine

And so, it happened that Arthur's first official day trip with his parents was to a mixed martial arts center. The place was not child-oriented; it wasn't traditionally family-oriented, either. Neil doubted that their boy would have the typical experiences of childhood firsts in common with other babies. But then again, many things in Neil's own life--and those part of it--were actually uncommon compared to what a million people had likely encountered in theirs. Nonetheless, he was just as agreeable with bringing Arthur to Pemberton's today. Who could really ever define what was an ordinary experience from what wasn't, anyway?

During Monday's breakfast at eight in their apartment, Neil announced that he and Andrew were off to town afterward. Nicky and Erik had come back late from their date, but the two still showed up early, appearing passably refreshed while eating despite the little bags below their eyes. Visibly affectionate, the two older men's eyes were radiant, with effortless smiles constantly plastered to their faces, seats scooted closer to each other, subtly shooting sugary glances here and there, brushing shoulders, and handsy touches straying to one's arm. The air between them was somewhat lighter than usual; Neil could only guess "something"--whatever that was--must have taken place the previous night.

Vibes of excitement from the married couple on Arthur's homecoming yesterday seemed to also carry over to this day, and it probably would for the rest of the week. They sought and played with the boy as soon as they'd emerged from their room earlier, speaking to him in German. They had sat him down in his high chair between them on their side of the table in the dining room. A babbling Arthur was content to be spoiled by Nicky with another multi-colored toy from the pool of unopened packages, while Erik was feeding him a few spoons of fruit purée. Andrew and Neil were having the same servings of oatmeal topped with flaked almonds and slices of banana. They were observing their boy quietly. Since last night, Arthur was on a sunny mood. Furthermore, he hadn't sobbed nor cried yet from the time he'd woken up even with a heavy diaper, which was the best sign Neil could ever hope for with child-rearing this week. He only prayed Arthur would be as well-behaved as he was right now when the relatives came later.

There was anticipation from the former backliner of the Foxes on seeing Aaron, Katelyn, and Betsy soon. Right off the bat, upon hearing the confirmation of who were arriving when, he'd already begun suggesting a picnic day in the park, a tour in the zoo, an overnight camp, a resort trip, and so on. It was like he'd forgotten that Andrew and Neil were joining their Exy team for Friday night's game. Not to mention some trips were just dead unsuitable to the Minyard twins. He animatedly spoke in an accelerated speed and upbeat voice, stopping only to sip his refilled cup of coffee, courtesy of Erik. In that one silent chance, Neil mentioned that he and Andrew were leaving in an hour to visit Pemberton, and that they would bring Arthur with them.

"Pemberton?" asked Nicky, as soon as he put his cup down. "Haven't heard the name before. Is he a friend?"

The striker chewed thoughtfully, then glanced at the goalkeeper. "Something like that."

Erik nodded slowly, taking in Neil's phrase and what it meant. "So he's like a family friend."

Neil looked at him and processed the term. They were indeed a family on their own right: he, Andrew, and Arthur together. "Something like that," he repeated, before adding a wooden, "I guess."

"All right," drawled Nicky with a goofy grin. Neil got the feeling that this information was akin to an intriguing--and yet another juicy--news to them. And it was probably because they'd yet to meet a single acquaintance or neighbor of Andrew's and Neil's in Colorado where the athletes' private home was based. "Is his place far from this neighborhood?"

"About twenty minutes," Neil replied, setting down his spoon, having emptied his oatmeal bowl, "if Andrew drove." Erik jerked an eyebrow at that.

"Not really far then," Nicky remarked. "So, is he Exy-related or anything?"

"Mixed martial arts."

Nicky's eyes widened a bit. "Your friend is an MMA fighter?"

"No, but he owns the local gym and event center. It's his profitable passion," Neil supplied nonchalantly. 

Andrew added, "In addition to shooting."

"Oh, okay." Nicky blinked a moment, his eyes suddenly drawn to Andrew's lackadaisical spirit. Arms crossed, the goalkeeper simply watched Arthur stretch his stained bib from opposite ends with his tiny, graspy fingers. "That's really cool of him, this Pemberton guy. Uh, so, how did you guys meet him?"

Following Nicky's gaze, the striker said, "Andrew first did. He went to see one of the fights here a few years ago."

"You practice the sport?" asked Erik in German.

Andrew returned his cousin-in-law's look and nodded lightly, replying in the same language. "When there's time. Works as a variant for off-season training. Helped me prep for the World League two years ago."

"How is it like? The speed and moves during sparring."

"It gives more freedom than boxing. More rush."

"I see," Erik said, a giddy smile forming on his chiseled face. He leaned forward, elbows sliding on the table. Neil remembered Nicky quoting that his husband had "recenty developed an adorable and hot thing for boxing." Erik did use the equipment in the fitness room for a few drills. "Sounds mean," he commented with a sly grin.

Raising an eyebrow and shaking his head good-humoredly, Nicky snorted at his cousin and Neil. "Tough pals unite, huh?"

The table had fallen wordless for moments as everyone proceeded to finish his meal and coffee. Already full, even Arthur had his pouty mouth shut, brows furrowed, as he now concentrated on pushing red and yellow buttons on the square toy he was holding with both hands. He was still in his studious mood when Andrew picked him up from his chair and brought him out to the living room in his arms, with the fat cats padding after them. Before the dishes were cleared off the table, Neil said, "Pemberton's place allows interested viewers through acquaintances. Andrew is gonna be our walking pass."

While collecting the glasses, Erik's grin broadened, like a drag racer who'd get to watch an exclusive car exhibition soon. "What do you think?"

"I'm fine with anything today." Nicky winked at him. "My mission is simply to document everything."

And document Nicky did. He'd been doing it since he got up from bed. He'd snap candid photos and video clips of Andrew and Neil and Arthur: sometimes together, sometimes not. Andrew allowed it, not remarking sharply, but whenever Nicky aimed for a close-up and overtly directed a pose for them to act out, the goalkeeper glared at his cousin till the latter would squirm, chuckle nervously, scratch the side of his head, and sheepishly say, "On second thought, this is actually a very lousy angle." He also took some photos featuring himself and his husband and the cats. There was even an accompanying commentary on one of the videos he was recording. A few clips he had planned to upload to the Foxes' message board in the evening.

In the end, it was Nicky who'd elaborated how the boy's homecoming went, following Neil's brief post during breakfast: Foxes' support has been great, and now Arthur Nicholas is home with us for good. There was an attached picture of the boy from that early morning. In it, he'd just opened his eyes and was lying on his side while hugging his fluffy sword. After Nicky's paragraph of details below Neil's post, Nicky added another picture--the one he'd captured as soon as the goalkeeper and the striker who was holding Arthur walked into the living room. Technically, it was their first family picture.

More than half an hour had passed since the posts, and it was Matt among the Foxes who'd been the promptest to respond. _What can I say, guys? :) Very momentous to our growing album here! Wallpaper worthy! P.S. Love the name much!_

Nicky replied that he'd actually made the picture his phone's wallpaper since yesterday. Neil gave him a questioning look upon seeing the reply on the message board. Nicky slanted his phone toward the striker, showing the homescreen. The picture of the trio was indeed his wallpaper. Neil wondered if he should change his as well. What he had on was still the vastness white and orange of the Palmetto Foxes' Exy court, the one taken during their latest visit to the university last year.

The morning ride to Pemberton's was spent with all-around German conversation. Andrew and Erik briefly discussed MMA, while Nicky bumbled on for almost thirty minutes about whatever came to his mind. Holding a meek Arthur at the backseat, Neil listened on, albeit noticing how Andrew and Erik's talk in the front seats was sixty percent dead air and forty percent words. But as it was, the goalkeeper could already be considered open and indulgent with how he allowed the married couple to accompany them. He was even driving particularly unhurriedly today.

"I wonder if Baby Arthur is confused," said Nicky while scrolling away on his phone.

"Why?" said Neil.

"I mean, he must be used to hearing English all the time, and all of a sudden he's stuck inside a big car hearing nothing but German. Won't our words be equal to animal gibberish to him?"

"Hm." Neil inclined his neck back on the leather seat as he stared down at the back of Arthur's head. He was beginning to memorize the fair curls and natural pattern of hair direction there. "Or he can just be a bilingual baby from now on," he said.

Nicky thrust up his head at him. "Oh, sweet! Right, right. Family language! That way, he can relate to us further. You know, be closer to his family. It's going to be an edge while growing up, too."

Self-defense, Exy-prep, languages--Neil was still pondering about how many classes Arthur might get enrolled in during his childhood alone when the SUV rolled to a stop. The heat was instant the moment they stepped out to the parking space. The athletes walked toward the entrance, with a wide-eyed Arthur in Neil's hold. Nicky and Erik were close behind, eyes scanning the premises. Pemberton was already notified of their morning visit, although even without a message from Andrew, the businessman and his entire staff would welcome them any second, as if the short blond strutting in from the lobby was a revered patron. Even the trainers and fighters treated the two Exy athletes like their discreet backers whenever they came around.

Sandra, the female security person by the swing doors tipped her head toward them. There was the distinct sense of familiarity the moment they entered. A step ahead of Neil, Andrew made his way past the lobby of the center in sure footsteps, evidently aware of where he was going. The area was empty, its red leather sofas and glass tables in the same arrangement from when Neil had last passed here. The black walls adorned by stainless metal-carvings were still spotless, and the white front desk was manned by a bespectacled staff called Kyle. Upon seeing Neil and Andrew, Kyle got up on his feet and bid them a casual "Nice to see you again", not bothering with logbooks for Nicky and Erik.

"Hey, Josten," said one of the two towering guards on the mouth of the hallway leading to the training hall. "Been a while, huh?"

The striker slowed down and halted to return the greeting. "Yeah," he replied, rocking Arthur once in his arms. "Got real busy."

The opposite guard grinned. "Oh, with him? I bet you two sure do."

They also greeted Nicky and Erik with polite smiles. Neil nodded to the guards then strode past them. The former backliner sidled up to Neil as they walked through the white and red stripe-painted corridor. "Neil, is my cousin an investor here?"

There was an upward pull to the corner of Neil's mouth. "Sometimes I'd like to suspect he is."

In the training hall were two fenced rings, a boxing platform, and generous square meters of elastic rubber mat. The walls were akin to a light gray sky, paint-sprinkled by white as though stars. There were side benches along the perimeter of the hall, but on a corner beside a nondescript gray door was an elevated ground where a drink station was placed. It had a black L-shaped leather sofa, and attached to the wall was a narrow counter for a glass rack, water dispenser, towels, and ice machine. A narrow vending machine offering sports and energy drinks plus low-calorie snacks stood by the other side of the gray door.

With a short curl of red hair, a freckled face, green piercing eyes, and thick muscular build, Pemberton was sitting at the end of the sofa, an unlit cigarette between his thick pale lips, his long bulky legs stretched out. He was wearing a black dress shirt, denim pants, combat boots, and a Breguet around his barcode tattooed wrist. Critically, he was eyeing the current sparring at the boxing platform around eight feet before him, his position overlooking about twenty people involved in the morning's training. The trainees and their trainers spared a second of recognition to the Exy athletes who'd entered the hall.

Standing at the foot of the elevated ground were three men in dark sports gear, looking to be in their late 20s to early 30s. Neil knew Fred, James, and Tristan. They were the younger part of Pemberton's security circle. At first glance alone, they sweated similar aura and impression--observant, experienced, competitive. When they saw Andrew and his family approach in a straight diagonal line toward their boss, their faces easily conveyed ease and lack of reservation. Pemberton angled his view from the boxing platform to the walking Andrew. His pale lips slowly broke into a smile, the expression rather arrogant, knowing, and sly than neighborly. The old man was doing it again, Neil noted.

"And here comes our adorable Exy love team," Pemberton greeted, his voice loud and raspy. His three men regarded Erik and Nicky, then smiled cleverly.

Andrew's brows twisted as he settled down at the L-bend of the sofa. Palm up, his hand stretched along the backrest. "Don't make me blacken your eyes on our next round in the ring," he said tonelessly.

If Coach Griffiths was comparable to a grizzly bear, Pemberton was quite the elder wolf himself. He laughed, his amusement turning heads from those working out on the mat. He shifted, slipped his hand inside his pocket for a second, and then unceremoniously dropped a green flash drive in Andrew's hand. Andrew pocketed the flash drive without looking at him, his hazel gaze drawn by the sparring in front of them even when Nicky and Erik crossed his line of sight when they moved to sit down to his left. Neil perched down to his right with Arthur leaning against his belly.

"You'll just do him a favor with the black eyes," Neil said, then looked at Pemberton. "Your youngest daughter like pandas, right?"

The man cleared his face of any expression. "Kid, your sense of humor is improving."

"The kid is the one in my lap."

"Yes, yes," Pemberton snickered. "And a wise kid at that. Look at those large and smart eyes."

Said large eyes were trained on the boxing platform, too, watching the movement of two grown men sparring in sweaty singlets and dark shorts. Meanwhile, Erik on the other side of the sofa was sharing Arthur's child-like focus. His fingers were actually flexing as he clasped them before his chin. Beside him, Nicky's gaze was roving about the place as though appraising the interior for an upcoming social event. Neil noticed that it was his work-style kicking in. "This is a very cool gym," the older Fox commented to himself. "I like the hard feel."

The response wasn't directed at him, but Pemberton shifted in his seat, bent, and lowered his head to look at Nicky with a pleased expression. "Glad to hear that, Mr. Hemmick-Klose. Well, isn't that long? Can I just call you Nicholas and call your hubby Erik?"

"Wait, you know us?" Nicky asked skeptically, muddled since Andrew and Neil hadn't yet bothered to introduce them to one another yet. Erik quickly turned his attention from the match to the red-haired man addressing them.

"Of course. My atta boy Andrew's cousin and his husband. Both in their late twenties. Residents of Germany, young professionals, the other recently promoted, both in town since late May." Andrew wasn't reacting at all to the description rolling out of Pemberton's mouth. Neil rolled his eyes mildly at the show-off. Pemberton casually stood up as he continued speaking, hands in his pockets, then he inclined his head to one of the three men watching by the step. The brown-haired one nodded and went around toward the vendo. "You lovers are looking good in sunglasses, by the way. I sure hope you've enjoyed most of our town in June even after the day care rounds at the start of your vacay. Oh, and kudos for the concert date last night."

The married couple's astonishment and unease couldn't be any more apparent. They inched back and stared at Pemberton as though they had seen a deranged stalker or a potential criminal, though Nicky sent his cousin a mix of suspicious and accusatory look afterward. The two remaining men bumped shoulders and grinned at their befuddled faces. Andrew was still being Andrew, a slack hand along his shin, ankle over his knee, solidly observing the practice match straight ahead inside the boxing platform. When the awkward hush stretched, Neil sighed and said, "Nicky, Erik, this old man is Glen Pemberton. He's the boss here, though he used to be in the military before his current gigs."

"Huh," said Nicky, glancing at his husband then back to Pemberton warily. "Okay. Jesus. Honestly, I don't get why you are tracking us like a secret agent, but... Well, hi there, Glen."

Pemberton grinned, flashing his uneven teeth. "Sorry. Did I scare you just now? I thought Andrew has told you already. Anyway, these are some of my best men," he said, pointing to the two men near him. "James, with the undercut do. Fred, the mole on the nose. The brunette at the vendo's Tristan."

James extended his hand to both Erik and Nicky, which they shook hesitantly. "Please don't be bothered. We were just doing our jobs as demanded by our summer contract. No need to feel bad about us."

Fred followed up by saying, "Yeah. We're not gossip boys. Only us here know what you've been up to lately."

"We keep secrets very well," supplied James with a wink.

"Scheiss. Can you explain yourselves further? What's this summer contract?" asked Erik, his forehead in a crease.

Before either men could answer him, a loud and drooly squeal spewed from Neil's side. Arthur was excitedly wiggling about in his hold, those fat hands up and forward into a semi-clap. The boy was unbelievably bouncing on his bottom as well, rejoicing with his eyes still fixed at the direction of the boxing platform several feet ahead. Blinkingly, Neil realized Arthur was entertained by a fighter's fall on his back.

"Hoho! See that? A wise kid indeed, I tell you. It seems he's got a knack for this kind of games," said Pemberton, a proud smirk on his mug, seesawing the unlit cigarette between his lips. 

Arms filled with vitamin water and granola bars, Tristan joined the bunch and distributed the snacks. His bare arms were covered by tattoo links of Celtic knots. While handing out the drinks, he said, "So, Boss, shall we recruit the blond boy for junior training someday?"

"Ha, of course. Who knows? If the dads allow, this young man could be my best star fighter. Could be an investment during my retirement years."

Neil shook his head stiffly as his lips twitched. Certainly, there was no slight intended by the remark, and Pemberton was just being his usual asshole joker self whenever he was finding new people to tease, and yet for some reason, the jest did not sit well with Neil. Was it because he didn't want them poking senseless fun at Arthur and his future? If this was another random baby they were talking about, would the striker bat an eyelash and feel the same way? His brows crinkled as he tightened his fingers around Arthur's sides.

"Oh God," Nicky whispered as he wiped a hand across his face, totally weirded out by the situation. Obviously, Pemberton had painted a jerk of a first impression on himself. The former backliner was a natural conversationalist, being innately social and all, but even he could not just squeeze into a talk like this if he was stunned by an uncomfortable start.

Adjusting the boy in his lap, Neil nudged Andrew's knee, signaling for him to throw an effort to this. The goalkeeper gave his cousin a semblance of clarification. He moved his head a fraction. "These three have been your assigned bodyguards since Neil and I have been away for games."

"We had bodyguards?" said Nicky.

"All this time?" said Erik.

"I've asked them to shadow you and Arthur so you haven't met them until now."

"And we report to Boss and Minyard 24/7," said Fred, pointing at Andrew. "Makes sure you're all safe and sound."

"Makes sure nothing stupid happens," added Pemberton. "That's what Andrew told us when he signed up for my special services."

"I--I see..." Nicky didn't look like it, though. But the initial confusion was evaporating, at least, as he eyed his cousin under a different light. There was new insight there, and so he opened his mouth to speak his mind just when the goalkeeper snapped a gelid, "Dare it and I'll toss you over to the ring."

Nicky shut his trap right away.

Pemberton sighed as he picked the unlit cigarette from his mouth. "Come on, Andrew. I can't believe you're terrorizing your own family."

Erik patted his husband's thigh, drank some from his bottle of vitamin water, and gestured to their bodyguards a friendly toast. And because Arthur let out another merry noise as an audible blow landed to one of the fighters, the German focused his attention back to the ongoing sparring. Neil was beginning to find the squeal an unagreeable response from his boy. The striker lifted and turned Arthur around so he'd stand on his lap and they'd face each other instead, but turned him back around again when he noticed that a certain agile and tiny hand was ready and angled to grab at his auburn hair. Neil's scalp still recalled the sting from yesterday. There was imminent danger that he had managed to evade.

Andrew was staring at the two of them during those seconds.

"What?" he asked the goalkeeper softly. The latter didn't answer him, however, and only gazed back completely to the platform.

Conversation floated back in after a few minutes. Nicky became comfortable enough to speak with Pemberton about his business and activities. Later during the mid-morning break of trainees, he got Arthur from Neil. The perky uncle and curious nephew began traipsing along the periphery of the training hall, taking photos here and there. At some point, Erik and the trio of bodyguards wandered away to discuss moves. A trainer approached them eventually, and a minor demonstration of how things worked took place.

Neil remained seated, quiet, and unmoving, a faint scowl dwelling between his brows, his mood suddenly on a downward slope. He didn't get it himself; he just understood something was ticking him off. Andrew unwrapped a granola bar and bit at it coolly. Pemberton sat back down, his cigarette stick between his fingers as he used his phone. His posture was all business now. He had shed off his comical facade once the three of them were alone, and was currently wearing a do-your-special-shit-right-and-no-fucking-with-the-fight mien that was sometimes similar to Wymack's. Neil had met Pemberton being like this, not when he was acting differently.

"If you have nothing on the whole morning, you all could grab a meal upstairs," he said in a low tone.

"We're not eating anything you're cooking," said Andrew. 

"Did I say it's me? Christine's coming at eleven with homemade stuff. She's got what you asked for, too."

"Better have the quality you've assured me," was the chilly threat in the summer wind.

"Your lack of total trust in us is simply amazing, Andrew." Pemberton slanted a serious glance at Neil, and when the striker stayed unresponsive, the old man exhaled. "Guess you couple have those days, too, eh? By the way, are you actually worried? I also have children. Take the word of an experienced father of three. I've taken into account everything according to your characters and lifestyles."

"Aren't you such a deep person?" mocked the goalkeeper.

"Yeah, which is why you should listen when I say it now that a usual setup would never work out to ease your overly active minds."

Andrew swallowed the rest of his bar and chewed out a bored, "I don't need your advice."

"I know." Pemberton observed Neil from the corner of his eyes. "I know you have your own ideas."

"Don't think you can read us, Glen." Andrew got up on his feet and reached for his cigarette case from his back pocket.

"I can't. We're not even in the same generation for heaven's sake. I'm just talking to myself."

Twitching his lip, Pemberton stood up as well, fished a lighter out, and played with it between his nimble fingers. There was the expectant pause for Neil to follow suit for a smoke, and yet the striker only glanced up at them and said, "I'll be right here."

Andrew stared down at him for a minute with faintly narrowed eyes, as Pemberton whistled a teasing tune. "Still coming?" he asked, his tall back facing the couple.

Unspeaking through their gazes, the goalkeeper moved his eyes away from Neil's face, stepped down, and strode off with the businessman out of the training hall and into the corridor. The water break was soon over. Training resumed. Fisty blows, kicks, and shouts from coaches were barely audible to the striker. His mood was sliding further down. His head was still directed toward the corridor when a few minutes later Erik had joined him on the sofa. The striker scanned the hall. Nicky and Arthur were nowhere to be seen.

"It's okay. They went to check the gallery," Erik informed Neil.

The gallery was a lengthy hallway leading to the ground floor offices on the west wing. Each local event, show, and related newspaper clippings were displayed on the glass shelves against the opposite walls. Many viewers went there for picture-taking sessions after the fights.

"I'm sorry about earlier," said Neil.

Erik shook his head with a kind smile. "No worries. Your friends here are not bad. They're actually interesting."

Well, interesting could mean anything, Neil thought.

"Is something wrong?" inquired Erik.

"I'm fine," came out of the striker's mouth before he could even stop to think if there was really something wrong. Sometimes old habits just pitched in. Erik gave him a weighing look, however. He wasn't taking Neil's answer in face value at all.

"I saw Andrew go out. Smoking?"

"Hm."

Erik leaned back and raised his foot to retie his crooked shoelace. "Big things, small things. It happens. You know, when Nicky is in a particular state, he is not as lively as he always is. Far from it."

A few moments undulated as Neil considered what Erik had said. Did the latter misconstrue the circumstances? When both free and present, Andrew and Neil would smoke together ninety-five percent of the time, but on the five percent that they didn't wasn't because they had a stuff going on between them. Neil only knew that this time he didn't join Andrew and Pemberton outside because Neil would be close to Arthur on the ride back home. He didn't want to make either Nicky or Erik hold the boy during the drive. Anyhow, they had been alternately smoking before, too, when they had to look after their boy by themselves. How could something be up between him and Andrew?

"We're not arguing," he clarified.

"No, no, you're not," said Erik with a faint smile. "However I doubt you're fine by one or two stuff today. You've had that face on for a bit now."

Brows furrowing even more, Neil was scraping in on a retort to that. He absently watched the kick drills on the other side of the hall. It was true that he was not simply "fine"; but what else could it be for him? He didn't like Pemberton's offhand comments earlier; still, Neil didn't think he would gravely begrudge the old man for those. His mind was telling him that because the adoption case was finally resolved, the fatigue from the previous weeks had begun to catch up on his body now, even trivially affecting his temper. Should he get more sleep these days, this sudden off-kilter bout would disappear. Perhaps after lunch, he'd forget feeling troubled.

In the end, he sighed internally and told Erik, "You're right. This just happens."

At about five minutes before eleven, Christine walked into the training hall, receiving greetings from the trainers and players alike. She was wearing a floral maxi dress and flats, sporting her natural tan; her curly black hair was all laid down over her back. Her exposed arms were toned, hinting at her regular workout, her facial features sharp and eyes somehow cat-like. Unlike her pretentiously playful husband, she never deigned to behave as someone else in front of new acquaintances for the sake of deliberately putting people off. Readily, she unveiled her charming smile and introduced herself to Erik and Nicky, inviting them upstairs for a meal she and her niece had prepared.

They were all led into the den on the third floor where several figurines collected around the globe during the Pemberton family's holiday travels and gun replicas were on display. Inside the room, various dishes were already set, and a girl looking to be in her late teens was sitting in front of a gaming console. She had spotless skin, short and inky black hair, well-defined brows, long eyes, high nose, and thin lips.

"Come meet my niece," said Christine. "Yang Lee. She just came back to the States last month after her overseas studies."

Upon their entrance, Yang approached them and shook hands with each man. "Hi, pleased to meet you." About four to five inches taller than Neil, Yang was wearing a black flowy blouse over skinny denims and red sneakers. The striker and the others returned her greeting, and when Yang saw Arthur, she patted the boy's forehead lightly.

"I hope we get along well, young man," she said.

Even though Andrew and Pemberton hadn't showed up yet, they all dug in the food as per Christine's encouragement. There were sushi rolls, quinoa salad, herb chicken, beef with carrots and peaches, fruit salad, and smoothies. Nicky, Erik, and Yang were dining on the table beside the window, getting to know one another over lunch. The TV was kept on, presently playing on a music channel. 

On the settee before the TV set, Neil had a plate of quinoa salad. Christine was sitting beside him, feeding Arthur with his milk bottle, while munching a roll every now and then from her own plate. At first, Arthur sobbed for a while when Christine grabbed him from Neil. Though in a handful of minutes, he had stopped, and when he found Neil was only nearby, he started to observe her. The boy was eagerly drinking his milk while beaming at Christine's face.

"Let me guess," she said, "Andrew hasn't let my husband hold your baby yet."

"Well, your husband didn't ask to hold him in the first place."

Christine chuckled before reaching for another roll, making Arthur blink up at her. "Maybe he knows better than to do so."

Neil smirked softly while chewing his quinoa. "Did they fight when he was down here during his Exy absences?"

"Three times they did. The usual, a few bullheaded rounds. With Glen and the guys. Blowing off steam I say."

"Is that what you think it was?"

"Andrew was quite, mmm, more aggressive and impatient then. Yeah. That's what I think."

Christine threw a glance over her shoulder at Yang, Nicky, and Erik. There was a thoughtful expression on her face as she looked back at the striker. She examined him until Arthur finished his bottle. The boy's eyes were falling half-lidded.

"Have you agreed to it?" she said in a soft voice. "What Andrew's been planning in case the family court didn't grant the approval to you and handed your boy to the foster system?" The striker unhurriedly set aside his plate, his eyes toward the sleepy Arthur. He didn't answer Christine because he knew she wasn't waiting for his response anyway.

Christine smiled. "Your man would've done something very much unwelcome by everyone's standards, but something very smart, too, if you ask me."

Neil nodded and sat back. "Andrew won't commission you for something that may not need to happen anyway."

"Yeah, he won't." She cradled Arthur against her bosom as she cradled him in her arms. By now, the boy's eyes were completely closed and her fingers were curling in over his chest. "He doesn't really have to if it ever comes to that, does he? Without our services, he'd do the finishing touches by himself. See, Andrew's given my good people their early summer projects in successive gunshots." She gazed back at Neil with keen eyes. "All those speedy background and underground checks. Grace Wood wasn't an exception. Traditional. Digital. Past records. Trails on personnel and authorities directly and indirectly involved. Even sniffed special centers around for infants. Possible carers, possible foster parents, possible destinations. May I say Andrew's very hands-on, too. He just arrived here like a boss in June and ordered people around."

"I'm sure you've been getting a bigger check for your trouble."

"Oh, we do." Christine winked at Neil. "And it'll be Yang's turn in the coming weeks."

The striker searched for the girl behind Christine.

"Pemberton chose her for the job," said Neil. Yang appeared unobtrusive, unassuming, and modest--on the outside that was. If she was the person that was opted for the Exy couple's requirements, then there was loads to her than what she was letting on with her demeanor. Neil figured if he peered more, he'd probably smell it on her, too--that identifiable scent to many. Not the stray wolf odor. She was projecting firm composure so as not to suggest that, but maybe she was more the type that always knew danger, had been fairly close to it in her life, and was apt to handle it by herself.

"Glen and I did," said Christine, comprehending the striker's regard. "Our Yang Yang will suit your little pack just fine. Once she's vowed to fulfill her duty, she'll whack whatever gets in her way to make good with her promise."

"I believe we'll discuss the terms with her before we fly back to our next match."

"Perfect. Another thing, you and your man can make out all you want anytime, anywhere, even when she's around." Why was Christine telling him this? Neil couldn't help a frown at the implication. He decided to ignore her and picked up his plate again for another forkful of quinoa. "I'm serious," Christine joshed at his reaction. "That's an awesome perk in these household situations. Go neck in front of her and she'll be like the wind. All I'm saying is feel free to walk around your house naked, and she won't care at all. Literally."

"We're not concerned about that stuff."

"Oh yeah? Helps, though, when the time calls for it. At least, you don't have to be conscious. You're a private couple, so my husband and I considered this factor as well."

"Your consideration is highly appreciated," Neil said dryly.

"Great," Christine said cheekily.

A minute later, Pemberton and Andrew entered the room, catching everybody's attention. Two things were easily notable: one, Pemberton had a fresh cut on the left corner of his lips; two, Andrew's brow was reddish. Still, his skin remained unwounded. Pemberton quirked an eyebrow at his wife, uncaring of the looks from the dining table. Andrew went straight for food in his typical no-nonsense carefree fashion. Aside from the evidence that they had a punch or two against each other just now, they didn't seem to be at odds. Neither man came ruffled, so it could be assumed the "little exchange" didn't take place inside the ring. An unbidden remark while smoking, maybe?

"He got you, huh?" said Christine when Pemberton joined them on the couch opposite the settee after he got his plate full. He also brought a bottle of beer with him from the small fridge.

"Obviously," he said mid-chew, "I let him, but reflex is reflex. I got back, too, so we're quits after. Seems I recently owed him one. For closure--sorry about earlier, Neil."

Neil's shoulders stiffened for a moment. While meditatively sipping from his glass, Neil tracked Andrew's movement: the goalkeeper was being himself, checking each food and choosing what he deemed good enough for his taste apathetically. There was a perfunctory look at Yang when he turned away from the dishes, but he never took a step toward them nor lingered by the serving table to appraise her. Andrew settled beside Neil on the settee, darting him his slightly narrowed eyes. The striker stared back, and for a minute they didn't utter a word, communicating just like this. Neil pondered over what Pemberton said.

Christine cleared her throat, so their eye contact broke. She got up on her feet, not taking her serving of remaining sushi rolls. Before leaving the three men to converse, she told Andrew and Neil that she'd be showing the sleeping boy to Yang, to which the goalkeeper gave her neither a weak blink nor a tiny tilt of his head. He just stared neutrally at Christine while masticating a mouthful of peaches. The striker nodded at her, reckoning it'd be good to further expose Arthur with others since he was among fellows in this place anyway.

"Sure you only require one?" casually said Pemberton without even looking at them. "Not that Yang Yang is inadequate. Because she's worth two and a half in action, to be honest. You could likely learn a trick or five from her, too. Not to mention, she's taller than her bosses."

Andrew shot the girl a vague assessment from where he was sitting. "I'm not employing an army," he said. "As long as the portfolio you've provided translates to reality, I think your establishment stays erect."

Pemberton huffed, his large shoulder muscles flexing. "Nice doing business with you, Andrew. Jesus Christ. Can't take it easy at all when it hits your sore spots, eh?"

Mild laughters drifted in from the dining table, a big contrast to how austere the atmosphere was over in the couches.

"Agatha?" Neil asked, his eyes finding Arthur.

"Still a ghost story," Pemberton answered, then he shrugged.

He assured them that his people would keep sniffing for the delivery boy, too. That, in addition to continuously guarding the couple's properties in the state--all free of charge therefrom, he emphasized. "For the comradeship," Pemberton said. He would never quote friendship on what relations they had with one another. Pemberton would always refer to it within his circle that Andrew and Neil were young and wild and ticket-paying comrades.

The goalkeeper didn't engage in discourse as he finished his food. Soon Pemberton had to excuse and lock himself up in his office to handle business calls. There was an upcoming fight at the end of the month, and he was planning to bring a summer exhibition to another town. Christine carried on entertaining their guests until it was time for them to go back. She and her niece walked them to the scorching parking lot around twelve thirty. After bidding goodbyes and standard pleasantries, Nicky and Erik went ahead inside the car, taking the baby bag with them. Neil was carrying Arthur against his chest, the side of his blond head resting on his father's shoulder with his mouth parted, a bit of saliva leaking onto Neil's shirt. Neil had him half-covered with a shawl as protection against the sun blazing down at noon. Alongside him, Andrew was walking back to the SUV with Christine and Yang a couple steps behind.

When they stopped beside the SUV, Yang swept the two athletes with a dignified gaze and bobbed her head. "Don't hesitate to rely on me. Whatever your security needs are, I'll provide it."

There was a long pause following her declaration. The striker wasn't certain what to reply at the moment, because the security needs couldn't completely be determined just yet. Although he'd like to reckon that they were preparing for the most plausible setup given their careers, he and Andrew would have yet to concretize the daily situations involving their little boy. 

The goalkeeper's acknowledgment of Yang's statement a minute ago was a simple and mundane question of, "Have you ever played Exy before?"

Yang's thin lips stretched rightward, giving a slight smile. "I used to," she said, "during summer in high school."

Andrew looked up at her, his gaze shaded by his sunglasses, then he twisted on his heels, giving Yang his back. "Then be like a mid-game racquet all the time," he said as he rounded for the driver's side.

For a handful of seconds, Yang stared after him as the goalkeeper slid inside the SUV and slammed the door shut. "I understand," she said, directing the response to Neil.

Squinting under the sun, Christine scratched her temple. A light sigh accompanied by a shallow laugh escaped her as she crossed her arms over her stomach. "See you on your next holiday, I guess?"

"Yeah," said Neil, going for the door of the backseat. "Thanks for the lunch."

"Anytime. Oh, and Neil--" At that, he glanced one more time at Christine. She appeared to be selecting her words carefully for what she'd tell the striker. In the end, she only said, "Both keep it cool, eh." Neil decided to evaluate everything that's been said later.

Arthur was still asleep when they arrived back in the apartment. Neil put him in his crib and placed his fluffy sword within his reach. Nicky and Erik went to get an early afternoon nap as well to recharge for when Aaron and Kately came. As soon as the apartment fell silent, Andrew removed his clothes inside the master bedroom. Now that Neil thought it through, he and Andrew hadn't spoken to each other yet since the minute he didn't follow him out for a smoke.

The striker was on the bed, watching the goalkeeper peel his clothes off and throw each piece into the hamper by the bathroom door. Inevitably, Neil's eyes explored every inch of Andrew's that was open for him to see. He marveled at the frame of his back, his skin, the lines and shapes, of the tender and hard, of bends and dips. He was noting the pinkish lines on the soles of Andrew's feet when the goalkeeper half-spun, showing his side, his intent hazels instantly finding Neil's blues.

Slowly, meaningfully, intentionally, he padded toward him--analyzing, leveling, feeling. Then his hand reached down to hold the end of the front of Neil's t-shirt. His fingers remained there, not pulling, as his gaze held Neil's.

Invitation. Neil suddenly felt parched, his heart beginning to pick up speed. His lips unclosed. "Yes," he whispered.

Andrew drew his other hand up, and with both, he took off Neil's top. Neil raised his arms, allowing Andrew to pull it over his head. It was akin to a slow dance: the manner of Andrew leading Neil toward the bathroom as he loosened those pants and unclothed him the rest of the way.

The door was left ajar as they made to the shower stall with limbs nearly entwined like twisted vines. At their sloppy connection, it was a wonder how they got to slot themselves together behind the glass door and cut the water on. There was more open-mouthed kissing, lip and tongue sucking, audible slurping, and sharp panting under the pouring water than scrubbing and soaping.

Uncaring of the drops pricking his eyes, Neil threw his head back, offering his shoulder and collarbone to Andrew, his arms around the goalkeeper's upper back. Goosebumps crawled on his wet skin, the rolling shivers underneath making him feel light and tipsy. His dick was crying for attention, rubbing against its mate; and the very second that Andrew graced it with the heat and energy of his palm, Neil's need burned to higher flames.

At the same time, his left ear was caressed by an infuriatingly evil, evil tongue that got him unstable on his feet on the slick tiles, making Neil jolt and moan obscenely. "Still pissed off?" was the rumble against his scarlet earlobe. Neil made a scratchy noise in his throat and twisted in Andrew's hold, leaning his cheek against his. Sometimes he hated it, how Andrew could render him speechless like this. 

Out of petty spite that he didn't quite grasp himself, Neil dipped his head in and sunk his dull fangs into Andrew's skin, eliciting a startled hiss--and a groan when his teeth held on to the flesh on the crook of his neck. The goalkeeper inched back to give Neil a fierce yet critical look. Neil shot back a defiant gaze as he removed his mouth from him.

"Is this how you seduce me?" whispered Andrew with wrinkled brows as he canted his hips forward and stroked them together robustly.

Lashes fluttering at the gratifyingly itch-scratching onslaught of sensation, Neil flinched and chanted a string of blurred vowels and little curses and puffs of breath. He wasn't trying anything, other than getting back a little on Andrew. But goodness could his brain cells sizzle and freeze when he was being stimulated expertly, when their bodies were linked for want and confirmation and mutual pleasure.

Unable to find the best purchase with their slippery skin, he latched onto Andrew like a drowning man, the water raining down on his back. Their hips swung against each other, gyrating bodies under the shower. Pump, pump, squeeze, grind, press, pump, pump, pump. Neil could barely contain his fire, his chest utterly full, and head ringing with tickling echoes of horny bodies and water droplets. He could only concentrate on the uncoiling in his own abdomen and Andrew's ragged breathing against his jaw, the urgency of his motions, the rigidness of his posture against his frame.

And then without warning, Andrew shoved him against the wall, sought his lips like the occasional biter he was, and pushed his face toward Neil's, nearly smothering him during his peak. A sweet, sweet growl  unleashed from Andrew's throat and came his tingling release that overflowed to Neil's own throbbing cock, both of which still trapped within Andrew's brusque hold and movements.

One had climaxed, but there was no change in the lusty cadence of Andrew's fist around them. Each second was a minute of sensory high. Neil hissed, his fingernails carving curves on his the goalkeeper's arm as his face warped along his approaching eruption. Neil clenched his teeth as Andrew let go of his own cock and focused only on him. Andrew planted a lingering kiss below his eye, stuck his lips there, and spurred him on with his sinful talk. "You're a very bad boy, Neil." Another kiss. "You're making me want to fuck." Kiss, kiss, kiss. "Nonstop." Another dragging lick. "With you." Another scrape of teeth. "All day, all night long."

"Damn you--"

Trembling from head to foot, Neil whimpered as he thrust several more times while he popped in Andrew's skillful hand. It took minutes to catch his breath, and only then did he realize that he'd been clinging to Andrew while recovering from coming so deliciously hard. His arms were coiled suffocatingly tight around the goalkeeper's torso.

Hastily, Neil loosened up his embrace to allow tiny space and darted up at Andrew, question clear in his eyes. There was a small twist to his insides as he minutely prepared for a reaction. The goalkeeper's passionate half-lidded gaze was fixed on Neil's lips, however. A breath of relief flowed out of Neil's mouth as he soaked in Andrew's wild look, with the water cascading down to his face and body. 

The urge for more and more was shared, but... exhaling faintly, Andrew took a step back and reached for the shower knob beside Neil. The spray became heavier on their flesh.

"He might wake up soon," he mouthed.

"Yes," Neil said, moving aside to get the body wash from the stand.

Both of them washed up within five minutes, and while still toweling themselves, a familiar roaring shriek from the bedroom was suddenly heard. Snapping their heads toward the direction of the door was automatic. Still half-wet and thoroughly naked, Andrew beelined for the crib followed by Neil in the same undressed state, a towel in his hand.

There he was still in his crib: their little boy, quite red in the face, arms up, crying his tonsils out. His pacifier had fallen off his mouth. The goalkeeper bent down to lift the boy and brought him up to his chest. Arthur's cries to his ear was deafening his blond father, while his other father's nerves were in a jumble as he watched them. After about a minute, Arthur's shrieks subsided into threads of uuuh and ggguuu and little hiccups. He must've had been awake for a while now and cried when he saw nobody around. If taken into his perspective, the boy could only see the blank ceiling and his toys in this crib of his.

Sighing, Neil ran his fingers through his hair, finally remembering to wipe his body. "So he did have that reputation," he remarked as he grabbed for clothes in the closet for him and Andrew.

Said reputation as a real-deal crybaby was reported by Nicky when Andrew returned home in June for Arthur's legal affairs. Apparently, after being checked in with the social services, the boy threw fits whenever possible, especially in the evenings, even getting fevers while going through his tests. Adjustment was also not easy upon being assigned in Grace Wood. It seemed Arthur tended to be choosy with his carers; not every nurse on duty could pacify him. The thing was he was good whenever Nicky and Erik went to see him in the medical center. It was still a question of whether he had always been this selective with people, or if it was the teething period that made him temperamental, or if the boy just got used to his family easily. Neil didn't expect babies to be this complex.

Andrew leaned against the closet. "I wonder what you were like when you were this small."

Neil shrugged in a crumpled t-shirt. What kind of an infant would his father and mother have spawned? It was something to imagine from a virtual distance, even to his own self. He looked at Andrew, who was staring at the far wall. "Me, too."

The couple dressed up in cotton polo shirts and shorts. Whereas Neil opted for pale colors, Andrew donned an all-black ensemble, except for his sneakers. Neil was up for the task of clothes and nappy change for Arthur. Thankfully, the boy was back to his talkative mode after a few sucks to his milk bottle. Better he spouted on and on for hours than cry all day. Neil fed the cats as Andrew exchanged e-mails with Harnett while rocking Arthur on his thigh. His cousin and Erik were still sleeping in the guestroom, and by past two in the afternoon, he was set to leave for the airport to fetch Aaron and Katelyn. The only problem was when he was transferring the boy to Neil, Arthur decided to strike an issue out of the blue and fisted at Andrew's collar.

The goalkeeper scowled at the fist pulling at his neck. He gazed down at his boy, disentangling each finger as carefully as he could yet making sure the objective was achieved fast. What was a baby's match compared to a grown-up's strength, huh? Of course, Arthur's hold fell as soon as Andrew drew back; however, Arthur indignantly shook his head left and right, extending his upper body from Neil's arms about him, going for a jabberwocky that neither father could decode.

Neil smirked. "Good to know I'm not the only one he likes so much."

"You are not going to be a spoiled brat," said the goalkeeper with a straight face, dismissing the matter at hand.

He swung his heels for the door and closed it when Arthur yowled even further against Neil's torso as soon as Andrew was out of sight in the bedroom. With the volume and roughness of his epic afternoon cry, one could imagine the boy was getting vaccine shots from a mean clown, a nasty bug sucked blood from his cheeks, or he got stung by hot water. Nicky and Erik would undoubtedly stir in their afternoon sleep upon hearing him. Heck, even Neil was surmising he'd have an acid reflux by the time Andrew came back later.

"Shhh," he comforted his wailing boy as best as he could. "Shh, it's all right. Andrew's gonna be away shortly. So be good, okay?"

In this case, as was in others, his pleading was ineffectual. Day Two of his official fatherhood, yet Neil was already picturing an endless obstacle course for him to cross. And here he thought the Olympic games would always be the most difficult he had to look forward to in his twenties. He went to the crib, presented Arthur the fluffy sword, but the legendary magic of pseudo-Excalibur was nothing on him. Even the Exy ball didn't shine this time. Arthur kept on squirming about, twisting his gaze behind Neil's back. Should Neil turn on the computer and distract him with a nursery rhyme video? Should he get other toys? Should he freaking sing again to calm him down?

He rocked Arthur strongly in his arms, the latter's crying voice shaking with him, and as the striker turned around, the door opened, and Andrew was treading back into the bedroom.

"He sounds like he's being killed," he said with some emotion.

"Yeah." Neil breathed sharply. "What did you do? All of a sudden, he sounds like he can't live without you for a bloody second."

Andrew's forehead wrinkled as he extracted the boy from him. He sat down on the divan by the end of their bed and put Arthur to stay up on his thighs, studying his boy who was angrily expressing his dissatisfaction on the world to the whole apartment unit. Well, the parenting counselor from last week did warn them that there were many sides to a child's personality that they'd discover within the first three to six months. If they discovered two per day, wouldn't that mean Andrew and Neil were going to juggle with hundreds of sides to Arthur? Unbelievable.

Eventually, Arthur's vocals got tired. Neil found him gazing back up at Andrew with tear-stained cheeks, appearing convinced now that his father wasn't leaving him. The silence was a gift.

"Let's switch," said Neil as he plopped down next to them.

Andrew kept his focus fixed at their boy. "The key's in my right pocket," he said.

Neil palmed the key to the SUV from him, then he grabbed his phone on the nightstand and immediately went down to the parking grounds. He cleared the backseat of clutter first before getting settled in the driver seat. He'd just started the engine and put on his sunglasses when he saw Andrew going directly for the SUV--with Arthur.

Without preamble, the goalkeeper opened the backdoor and slid in. The yowling boy was facing the front, a cap on his head. Neil twisted in his seat to take a look at him, and then Andrew stuffed a pacifier in Arthur, shutting his mouth and muffling his cry into whimper.

"What happened?" asked Neil.

The edge of Andrew's mouth twinged downward. "Sounded like he's being killed again once he's noticed you're gone," he said as he began to attach the baby seat.

Neil mulled over that during the entire drive to the airport. As soon as they parked to where Aaron and Katelyn would meet them outside, he turned to stare at the boy who was now busy with his toy. His father beside him was peering out the window while his index finger was held captive by Arthur's other hand. How come Arthur had allowed Andrew to strap him in the baby seat but pull Neil's hair with vengeance for it?

"Why do I get the feeling that we're being secretly played and controlled by our baby?" It wasn't the physical involvement of parenting that would take the most energy; however, it was the emotional attachment that could turn the world upside down and back again whenever a child went through something.

"Perhaps we are. More so with you."

"With me?" said Neil.

"Just this morning, Pemberton got under your skin."

Neil frowned. "Didn't Pemberton get under yours?"

Andrew tilted his head calmly toward him. "Because of you."

So much honesty in three words. "That's why you punched him."

"Pemberton had it coming," said Andrew then his gaze at Neil sharpened, though his tone and expression remained disinterested. "You do remember we don't deal with Ichirou's rotten kind. Pemberton has brains enough to understand: he'd die by my hands first before he warps crazy and profits on what's ours."

Caught off balance, Neil blinked at him, panning his gaze away. "I'm aware of that."

And yet... Projection, was it? Andrew figured it out earlier just like that. Discernment was submerging in Neil, buoyed by the circumstances of the past weeks: the recognition of potential in a clueless child, the suggestion that he'd be of use to a superior someday, the implication of labor through his talents, the possibility of inescapable contracts. The malice from elsewhere had struck Neil; it had struck him like soundless thunder without clearly knowing it did, summoning gray clouds, pouring and filling water where it's supposed to be dry, where it's actually dry.

"I just--" The striker shifted back straight in his seat, hands lying slack on the steering wheel and waiting for a sign of Andrew's twin and his wife. Through the quiet rumination, it resonated in him, Pemberton's words, Christine's words. Andrew and Neil knew Arthur didn't owe his future to anybody. He met Andrew's solid gaze on the rearview mirror. "Do you think that maybe we're overdoing this?" Because it was not far from truth that if threats became real, they both could do unspeakable things in the name of protecting Arthur.

The goalkeeper slanted his head faintly. "Does it matter?"

Neil's phone chirped. Katelyn texted that they're now heading to where they were waiting outside the terminal. A few minutes later, she came into view, striding fast under the summer heat while holding hands with Aaron, who was carrying a travel bag over his opposite shoulder. Katelyn was carrying a smaller green shoulder bag on hers wherein the head of their dog was poking out. Both of them were wearing loose white button-downs over denims. The striker stepped down from the front seat to open the trunk for them.

"Hi, Neil! So great to see you." Katelyn's toothy smile and half-hug was instant, complementing her husband's stoic greeting. He regarded Neil and offered a flat, "Hey."

"Hey," the striker said back as he secured their bags at the back. Katelyn took out their meek dog from its container. Just when they were getting into the SUV, there was an awkward pause upon seeing Andrew at the backseat with Arthur.

"Wanna ride shotgun?" said Neil so they could soon quit standing askance in the parking lot at past three o'clock.

"Sure," agreed Katelyn after he glanced at Aaron. Unperturbed, Aaron slipped into the backseat behind Neil. Andrew was right behind Katelyn, with Arthur seated between the twins. The boy stopped playing with his toy, though his hand was still around Andrew's finger. The brothers' eyes met for a second... And that was it.

"Uh, hi, Andrew," said Katelyn, peeking over her back after she'd fastened her seatbelt in place. The goalkeeper just looked at her wordlessly to which Katelyn's smile grew stiff in a flash. Neil expected nothing less between the in-laws. She then moved her attention to Arthur, and this round her smile was unrestrained. "Hello there, pretty boy. We finally meet. I'm your Auntie Katie, and that guy to your left is Uncle Aaron. Looks just like your daddy, huh?" Big eyes at work, Arthur just gazed at her.

Aaron eyed the boy briefly with a neutral face, then he looked at his brother. "Arthur Nicholas," he said. "Did Nicky burst a champagne bottle for it?"

Andrew smirked lightly. Neil drove away and said, "He cried."

"Aww," said Katelyn, a hand on her chest. Their dog was curled up on her lap. "I mean, it's only natural, right? If I were him, I probably would, too. Really. It's so beautiful and touching for you to do that."

Dialogue was sparse on the way back. Arthur kept on gawking at Aaron, so much that Neil wondered if his neck wouldn't strain after looking up like that for a long period. Sometimes, Katelyn would point something out on the streets they sped by, and Neil would answer her queries. Beyond that, there was no running talk that could be sustained in the trip to the athletes' neighborhood. Katelyn did snap a picture earlier of the three boys in the backseat: both twins were looking out their windows, and Arthur was still goggling at Aaron. Katelyn uploaded it right away to the Foxes' message board, captioning it with an emoticon-heavy "Yeah, Minyard boys! We're in Colorado, Foxes!" Neil had read it because Katelyn showed the fresh post on her phone to him while he was driving.

The goalkeeper didn't bother checking his gadget for anything. Aaron was using his for what seemed like e-mail reads, and Katelyn was having a few sorts of gleeful expressions as she tapped away. A quarter mile away to their apartment building, Katelyn giggled and showed her screen to Neil again. There were already a few comments to her post. Wasn't that curious? The Foxes were active at the same hour today.

_\--Dan: Never thought we'd see the day!!!_

_\--Renee: So happy for you, guys. :-) Wishing you all a great time!_

_\--Nicky: Makes we wanna cry! Get home quickly! Can't wait!_

_\--Allison: Question. Are you playing human tic-tac-toe? LOL 8-D BTW, my assistant found this wonder on the net last night..._

There was a linked image from a feature article, and in it, a male Exy supporter attending what looked like an Exy gathering event for fans was photographed wearing a baggy white T-shirt that had a printed statement of: "Mummy Josten did carry a baby, you ignorant haters!"

Neil stifled a groan. Inwardly, he swore not to mention babies in interviews again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks much for reading! <3


	10. Chapter Ten

 

Way past midnight, and everyone in the apartment was still up. Everyone included and headlined Arthur, who was swimming against the current for reason or reasons that were yet to be truly specified. After an uneventful Sunday evening, Neil was wont to believe he'd get adequate sleep tonight. Things were okay the rest of the afternoon and the early hours of the dark. As it turned out, being a parent for real meant the eventuality of such optimism was a fifty-fifty chance. He was feeling quite foolish for growing complacent at this moment. Hadn't he already gotten a good taste of unpredictable all-night baby alarms during their boy's first weekend with them in May? Neil shouldn't have let his guard down.

In his comfy sleepwear, Nicky was sending Neil a look akin to... pity or amusement. Whichever it was, Neil didn't like it. He took a big swig of his chilled beer. The walls in the kitchen were never resistant enough to block Arthur's presently ongoing fit from the living room, where Andrew was letting him run out of fuel. Within this hour, that was. Who knew what later, at four or five in the morning.

"'Shouldn't have let my guard down'," Nicky quoted back, chin on his jaw, brows wiggling and eyes widening in sarcasm. "I swear," he further drawled. "Only you, Neil. I swear only you can make parenting sound like you're battling along in a war or in the middle of an FBI mission. It's like you've got clocked on your nape because you failed to check behind you for a split second."

"You've watched too much of those movies," Neil said wryly.

"Go to the mirror and see for yourself. 'Cause seriously," said Nicky, "you look like--I dunno, the way you were in college after an epic team brawl post-game?"

The striker sighed and admitted, "I do feel beaten. You've looked after him at nights, too. This is four or five levels up."

"Well, there's great doctors next door. I've been meaning to bring this up since one a.m. with my cousin. One's super legit pedia even, so shall we finally hop out there and knock for advice?"

Neil downed another swill and decided to take his bottle with him to the living room with Nicky trailing behind him, the older Fox covering an extensive yawn with his palm. Slouching, with his arms folded, Erik was already nodding off in the sofa. A few paces away, Andrew was on the carpet, sporting a pronounced scowl, cross-sitting, and gazing down at his whimpering, whimpering boy. The consolation during these wee hours--at gloriously three forty-seven--was the dominance of the whimpers now overlapping with close-mouthed sobs instead of the surge of screeching cries that erupted at twelve-something a.m.

For hours, Arthur would fall into a shallow sleep for minutes, then he'd move, roll, and continue his segmented concert as though he was performing in sets. Milk, diaper change, various pacifiers, frozen teethers clothes change, toys, music, television, games, cats, talks--all possible distractions the family could think of for all possible root causes were tried.

At first, the couple thought Arthur didn't like his new crib. He behaved the same way when he was moved to the mattress afterward, however. Neil suggested carry-strolling him around the apartment, which he and Andrew eventually did in turns, parading their boy's screams, which resulted in disturbing Nicky's and his husband's sleep, too. Consequently, they became concerned as well and hoped to calm Arthur with their own techniques. Erik did a session of peekaboo with bright toys. Nicky offered his personal version of made-up free-rhyming lullabies. Ah, not much effect there for Arthur's happiness, really. Not much effect on his daddies' happiness, either. 

Time machine--Neil was wishing for a time machine, this time so badly. He was genuinely wishing for a surprise time-space phenomenon so they could all jump to the period when Arthur was over his teething mood or when babies were over this rollercoaster stage of infancy.

Each attempt to get Arthur to stop and get back to sleepy mode would work only for several minutes; the spells were just simply short-lived. "Maybe he's not feeling well inside, too," said Neil before gulping the rest of his beer and putting the bottle down on the TV stand. As they could all attest, Arthur didn't eat differently today. His temperature was not in fever range, skin was rash-free, no signs of colds so far, but it could also be another thing within his body aside from his aching gums.

Andrew's gaze rose to Neil's.

"Katelyn won't mind," Nicky added a little softly on the side.

On the brink of deep sleep, Erik jolted and regained awareness. "Need anything?" he asked drowsily in German as he stood up. Nicky approached him, tiptoed for a kiss on his temple, and rubbed his back endearingly.

"We're cool. Why don't you go back to bed, love?" he replied in German. "We'll just go next door for a bit."

"All right. Just give me a knock if you need me."

"Thanks," Neil said when Erik passed by him and patted his shoulder before returning to the guestroom. "What do you think?" Neil directed to Andrew.

The goalkeeper returned his eyes to his sobbing boy, who was softly guuh-ing and gaah-ing for a long time now. The front of Andrew's gray tee was wet around the chest from Arthur's tears, snot, and saliva. The scowl disappeared from Andrew's visage, and his impenetrable blank face was switched on as he got up to his feet. He was carrying the boy against his torso while padding out of the living room. Without saying anything, he headed to the next unit barefooted. Just like some of the olden days at the Fox Tower, Andrew was leading his pack with his cousin and Neil close to his heels, filing away into another room. The only persons missing to complete the old picture was Kevin and Aaron.

Neil put in the security code. Nicky knocked on the doctors' door, and for a minute the three men waited on the brown leather sofas of the receiving area. Clinging to his father, Arthur buried his head at the crook of Andrew's neck, his little cries muffled there. With hyperacidity and stress-induced ulcer threatening to develop in his own body, Neil looked the other way. These were the moments when he couldn't keep his eyes on the poor boy. Still feeling unusually parched, he thought he might just need another bottle of beer.

"Hey," said Katelyn, coming into the hall in her oversized t-shirt and pyjamas. Her hair was pulled up loosely into a ponytail, a few pillow lines fresh on her face. "What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you up," the striker said readily, his emotional exhaustion exuding in his tone.

"It's all right," she said kindly, then looked straight at Andrew and Arthur. "Is something the matter?"

 Following her gaze, Neil said, "Arthur, he, uh, he just won't stop crying tonight no matter what we did."

"We're wondering if he's got a bug or something like that," Nicky added.

"I see," Katelyn said. She immediately went over to where Andrew was seated. Shooting her brother-in-law a reassuring expression, she settled near him, though respectable space was left between them. A non-verbal question was hanging in the air. Andrew didn't meet her eyes, but Neil was doubtless the goalkeeper was looking at her mindfully. After some seconds, he handed the boy to her. It was not like Katelyn hadn't touched and played with Arthur the whole dinner time, but she would get and return the boy to Neil or Nicky or Erik. Aaron had yet to touch the child and was seemingly content to study Arthur when he was beside his wife. "Does he have known allergies?"

"None that his most recent medical tests have identified," said the striker.

Katelyn put Arthur on her lap and began to poke careful fingers around his neck, head, chest, stomach, and limbs while waiting for a delicate reaction besides the uneasy cries. Must be searching for pain points, Neil reckoned.

"Okay. This isn't the first time he's behaved similarly, right?" she asked.

"No, not really. We all know he's teething," said Neil. "Only tonight, he's much more sensitive than usual."

It was then that a tousle-haired Aaron showed up in the living room, wearing a gray shirt with long sleeves and white cotton shorts. Upon seeing that his wife was about to do with their nephew what she professionally did, he trod back into their bedroom, then brought out what seemed to be her kit. He perched on the couch across them with a casual yet watchful posture, appearing very much used to night calls like this. 

Arms crossed, Nicky started to pace around. Neil's tongue itched to make him stop. He sat sideways, his back toward the older Fox and fully facing Andrew and Katelyn. Neil and Nicky answered more questions, while Andrew was inexpressively conducting his own examination--an evaluation of his sister-in-law's examination over his boy. 

Katelyn switched off her tiny flashlight, having just checked Arthur's mouth and peeked about his throat. The boy was considerably pliant enough with the mild poking inside his cheeks, notwithstanding one abrupt scream--that got Andrew instantly frowning--and a few body twists toward his blond father's direction on the sofa. Nothing could save his aunt from his grabby hands pinching at her, though. His round face was a perfect picture of mighty upset, especially when Katelyn touched his gums for a moment.

"Well, there's no new news--except very sore gums makes an extremely unhappy Arthur," she said definitively, meeting Andrew's unrelenting eyes.

Exhaling deeply, Neil's shoulders slumped. "Should we put in a cold teether again?" He didn't wish to imagine how it'd be like for every tooth that would pop up if this became Arthur's trend of teething behavior.

Katelyn smiled tightly. "You already did it a few times, right? I doubt repeating that and rubbing his mouth with frozen cloth will work for him tonight. I'd have to give him some pain reliever."

"Uh, like ibuprofen?" asked Nicky, finally ceasing the irksome pacing.

"Yeah. When the teething pain is too much for him, he'll need appropriate dosage to help Arthur sleep for several hours."

"So do you..." Nicky trailed off.

Katelyn responded with an understanding and composed, "I got it. Don't worry. Just one second."

She gave Arthur back to Andrew, left Arthur a loving caress on his head, and returned to the bedroom for the medicine. With a sour face, the boy stuck to his father, wiping his cheek against his collar, all the while his fingers clamping at his wet tee. The volume and intensity of his cries were receding further and further. His whining was mostly extensive nasal sounds of hnnn and nngh by this point. Neil could tell Arthur himself was so tired of this experience. Indeed, if only he could get his uninterrupted sleep... so the rest could get theirs, as well.

Remaining quiet, Andrew stroked his son's back languidly, though his eyes were slightly cast down at nothing on the low table before the sofa. At most, he looked to likely be thinking about something else without betraying his emotions. Across him, Aaron was observing them openly. Since arriving in their apartment, Aaron would unapologetically stare at his twin every time he had Arthur around his person. Either he was amazed by Andrew's perceived affinity to the boy or he was questioning the chemistry between the two. Neil would surmise it was both for Aaron's perspective.

At first glance, Aaron was behaving a little closely to how he usually was about five years ago: critical-looking, detached, and imperceptibly alert. But there wasn't the old veiled angst nor the tangible distance that he used to wear around the Foxes. If anything, he was simply formal with his interactions, albeit he wasn't shutting anybody off. He was the coziest when petting their dog Popo and close to his wife. His interest in each conversation topic was expressed concisely, unless he was speaking with his Katelyn. It was no deal to the family since this was Aaron Minyard they were with. They knew what to expect, especially in this mini-reunion.

This afternoon, when the twins, their life partners, the baby, and Popo shuffled into the next door unit, they were in for a bring-back-some-college-dorm-night welcome from Nicky. On the living room's table were tubs of ice-cream, bags of popcorn and chips, boxes of fries, packs of mixed fruits, bottles of juice, and cans of flavored beer. Erik was balling up plastic bags the food came in. On the shelf against the wall was a dock and handy speakers for his music player. A soft electronic pop song that Neil didn't recognize was playing. Not that he was into trendy music in the first place.

There was a fraction of silence before Nicky toothily greeted them with a sassy, "Forget about being super healthy for today, will you?" 

All smiles and glee, Katelyn put down Popo and rushed in to embrace the former backliner. "God I missed this! I really missed you all," she gushed before going to Erik.

"You know how we missed you, too," said Erik, hugging her back.

Whereas Katelyn instantly bestowed her warm hugs to the relatives--excepting Andrew--her husband was quite generous with his compact greetings of "Hey." The most warmth he did was return his German cousin-in-law's back pat and allow Nicky to squeeze him for fleeting seconds. 

Still, about five hours that passed since Aaron and Katelyn's arrival in the apartment building was the extended family's great time spent on snacking, drinking, talking, and simply being with one another. Arthur was still a peaceful boy during these moments, distracted by his fawning aunt, a furry Popo, and another quiet uncle who shared his father's face. Whenever the boy was near Aaron, he would crane his neck toward him and become visibly fixated. But as dusk came, the bolder he'd gotten. He would be chanting like a chirping bird while testily poking at Aaron's clothes and forearm. A handful of times, Arthur had pinched along his wrist, his tiny fingers latching onto the flesh, leaving red marks to the neurologist's skin.

"Someone's being close and comfy with his Uncle Aaron," said Nicky as he captured candid pictures of the two.

For his part, Aaron only composedly peered down at his nephew whenever the latter touched, or pinched, him. He regarded Arthur as he probably would any curious child. Neil noticed Aaron hadn't held Arthur yet; and he supposed the reason was factored in to his relationship with Andrew. Even Nicky didn't push the twins to interact more. It was this kind of situation that sent off the impression that after all these years or so, they weren't going to be any brother-like. The Foxes generally believed that figuring out the intricacies of the Minyard connection was just too much process for brain and heart cells.

During their lounging, Nicky couldn't help commenting on Aaron to Katelyn. "Is it just me or is my cousin giving off a cool and broody-ish charisma these days?"

With Arthur playing on her side, the pediatrician grinned as she looked at her husband's way. Aaron then was crouching down near the wall, busily feeding Popo. He was very much within clear hearing distance, nevertheless. "You think so, too? Actually, many of his colleagues admire him for that since his residency. They can't quite pull off this charisma stuff themselves."

"You mean this image, it's become young Doc A's signature charm?" teased Nicky, a twinkle in his dark eyes, his brows wiggling. He didn't get much opportunities to poke petty fun at his cousins, hence he was taking advantage of this moment. Katelyn was happy to indulge him, anyway. 

"You bet. I can only imagine how more it's gonna be if he wears reading glasses."

Nicky crossed his arms. "Hmm, will he be the poster boy of the hospital?"

 Katelyn grinned. "Could be, huh? He's pretty popular where he's at. Even with our neighbors and friends. Clicks well with Doc Kate's own charm."

"Very nice. Talk about a smart couple in white coats and their league of fans."

"Hey, we get a lot of gifts from our league of traveling friends."

Nicky hummed sweetly, then said kiddingly, "Just curious. These traveling friends of yours, are they all, y'know, complete science nerds, too?"

"Shut up, Nerdy Nicholas." Katelyn playfully threw a cherry at Nicky while holding off a chuckle. The latter bumped Neil's shoulder as he instinctively ducked and laughed.

While listening to the current chatter, Neil was intermittently reading Exy updates on his phone beside Nicky. He had not much opinion on Aaron's image. For him, Aaron was pretty much being himself. The striker did note the changes in him since college. The two hadn't really been talking a lot over the recent years. Even so, they weren't awkward or indifferent with each other. Both knew they had one another's backs if the situation called for it. It was just that their relationship was dissimilar to the buoyancy of Nicky and Katelyn's. Being easily conversational and in touch, those two could chat for hours on a multitude of things--whether in person or through other communication lines. In this lifetime, Neil doubted he would ever casually stay in a random online tete-a-tete with Aaron on a regular basis. If Andrew himself wasn't doing it, all the more that Neil wasn't doing it.

Despite appearances, however, Aaron had already registered Arthur as someone important to his twin; otherwise, he wouldn't have sent his brother a text message to offer health support. Staring at Andrew's spotless profile, Neil recalled his reaction after reading that message. There was a chance it could happen again this week if Aaron opened his mouth and let out his opinions for real. Aaron was all right, but there was bound to be a point where he could suddenly go sharp-tongued or something. Up until now, though, they were all considerably getting along well.

Neil leaned in to his right side, about to whisper into Andrew's ear regarding the recent game reviews when the goalkeeper's phone rang. He looked at the striker for a moment. He answered the call without saying anything, stood up, passed by Aaron and Popo, and left the unit.

"Your coach?" asked Katelyn.

Neil shook his head. He didn't need to check who the caller was. "Betsy."

"Oh, she'll be here tomorrow with us, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Perfect. We're absolutely having a family reunion. I wonder what we should do on Wednesday," Katelyn trailed off with a finger on her chin and a child-like smile on her lips. The striker could see this expression resembled the generous smiles she'd showered everyone on her wedding day. Remembering this occasion that the Foxes attended together created a little, inconspicuous pull on the corner of Neil's own lips. 

Memories, precious memories.

"I'll tell you what our pack should do," Nicky eagerly jumped in her cousin-in-law's thoughts.

Somehow, over sour cream chips and beer, over mellow laughter and gushfuls of chatter, a plan for a simple celebration was made despite the dearth of evident input from Aaron, Neil, and Andrew. Their interest was definitely there; as long as they all did nothing silly, they were all right with whatever the other Foxes came up with. 

For Neil, seeing some of the Foxes together again was producing a small burn in his chest. Sitting there with Nicky, Erik, Aaron, Katelyn, Arthur, and Andrew; watching the interactions and connections that bore no lies and pretensions--it was so easy to stay with them for hours like that, to relive the good old days, to imagine every single Fox that lived in the Fox Tower, and to wish that they could go back to Palmetto and experience their happy college days one more time. He missed them. Neil missed all of them, and even though this feeling was constricting his chest each time, he'd always welcome this bit of pain. It was belongingness. It felt manageable. It felt okay.  

What felt not okay was Arthur's pain.

Promptly, Katelyn prepped the right dosage that the boy needed for his pain and administered it to him smoothly. A few drops of the medicine inside his mouth, plus a sour face--and in about thirty minutes, at long last, Arthur was sleeping like a log, wrapped securely in Andrew's arms. Once certain that there would be no more baby fuss afterward, the goalkeeper made his exit so he'd get to tuck in their boy for his uber-late bedtime. He didn't utter a single word the entire time they were in the next door unit, not to Katelyn and not to Aaron either; he did shoot his sister-in-law a subtle look of trust and recognition for what she'd just done for her nephew. Or so that was how that long stare, minus a certain degree of Andrew-branded edginess, could be interpreted by the people in the room.

"Thanks," Neil said, "a lot."

"Anytime." Katelyn smiled genially as she saw them to the door. Aaron had simply returned to their bedroom as soon as his twin left about ten minutes ago. Nicky was still at the hall, standing there with Neil. "Neil, you do remember this stuff is perfectly fine with us, right? Like real fine. No big deal at all."

"Yeah," said Neil, after a moment as he raked his hair with his fingers.

"Actually, he's forgotten for a sec," Nicky commented good-naturedly before a drawn-out yawn slipped from his lips.

"Well, I guess you did tonight," Katelyn replied. She shook her head faintly as she patted Neil's shoulder. Then, she laughed softly, seeming to do so for herself. "Hey, we can't all help it, okay? You know what they say, things are always kind of shaky and tough on the first try. Arthur is having his first tooth; you and Andrew are first-time parents; we're all first-time aunts and uncles to a Josten-Minyard here, so we're all adjusting. Truth is I was a little nervous when I was giving the drops earlier. It's one thing to do it with patients repeatedly; it's always a different story when you're doing it with family. It's hard to explain, just..." She gestured with her hands.

The striker nodded at once. He got her completely. And yes, a feeling like this was quite hard to break down into words. He couldn't come up with a more expressive thing to tell Katelyn other than a genuine, "You are very great."

He and Nicky were about to retire back to their apartment when Katelyn called their names. With his palm around the door handle, Neil looked at her one more time. One bare foot out onto the hall, she was chewing her lip for a few seconds, and then she said sheepishly, "Do you guys think we can keep the 'little nervous' bit to ourselves? You know, while I was giving the drops to Arthur. I'm just hoping Andrew didn't already notice." Moving her eyes away from them, she let out something akin to a timid chuckle after saying so. "I might have earned a rare star from Andrew just now, and--" she pouted like the teenage girl she once was and eventually said ruefully, "and if that's what I think it is, then I truly truly wanna save the shine."

Neil found himself blinking at her in slight confusion. He sincerely thought Katelyn had done a graceful job with Arthur, and he was pretty sure anybody who'd watched her would think so as well; she was sure, efficient, and professional, despite admitting an ounce of nerves back there. Even if Andrew knew about that, Neil believed the goalkeeper wouldn't count it as a shortcoming.

"Oh, that?" Nicky said perkily, going for a no-problem attitude. "Sure thing, Kate. Though, seriously, if I were a baby doctor, I'd be sweating if Andrew was my patient's daddy. I'm not a doctor, but, to be honest, sometimes I still get nervous when he's around, like staring and all tight-lipped. Only Neil can stand him like that with ease."

"It's because you yak on those unnecessary stuff that you end up getting nervous around him," quipped Neil before turning his attention back to Katelyn. He reassured her with a small smile. "Don't worry about it."

She nodded and sighed, "Okay," then added a soft-spoken, "Good night," before withdrawing behind the door.

Nicky marched back to bed to join Erik, and so did Neil to join Andrew. There was a gap in their bedroom's door, a ray of light from the lamp in the hall casting a broken line down the direction of the bed. Just a step in had him finding King Fluffkins curled up on the carpet floor. The lights inside were off, but the curtains were deliberately parted wide enough to let the moonlight stream in. In a short while, the inky veil of sky would be lifted, and the sun would be showering glares and heat as early as possible. But at this time, their whole home was still soundless, so much that the striker could hear only his fluttering heartbeats.

As quiet as their cats' footsteps, he padded inside the bedroom, closed the door, and looked on at the waiting space to Arthur's right. Sir Fat Cat was snug between his pillow and the headboard. To Arthur's left, Andrew was already asleep, lying on his side, facing the space reserved for Neil. He didn't stir even when the bed dipped under Neil's weight. Arthur was equally unmoving, probably dreaming his long-deserved pleasant dreams. It was the best calm after the recent storm.

Having the bed beneath Neil's back felt so gratifying. The tension his joints and muscles held had soon evaporated, and his mind was quickly blanking out of the incessant worries he'd been holding for hours. Eyes tired and closed toward the ceiling, Neil was half-consciously thinking of indulging in a sleep-in when he heard Andrew utter.

"Are you still up to fetching Bee later?"

Neil unclosed his eyes, then tilted his head to face the goalkeeper. He couldn't see him clearly in the dim room, not to mention he was already about to doze off any minute; however, he knew by instinct that Andrew was also staring at him half-liddedly. Andrew must've had been woken up by Neil's movement on the bed, though he didn't react outwardly on it.

"Mm," Neil confirmed, giving in to the heaviness and letting his eyes slide shut again. At this point, moving to set an alarm on his phone was out of the question. "Wake me?" he breathed.

"Mm," Andrew answered.

Andrew did a great job out of waking him up, if Neil himself must say so. He was in the middle of dreaming something he couldn't recall anymore when his right eye was suddenly poked, jolting him to a start--and a grunt. Boy did Neil feel the instant pain to his eyeball. The jab followed by insistent slaps on his cheeks and tiny pinches to his nose certainly had him getting up without delay. Fantastic. Even though he'd asked for it, the method of delivery had him displeased first thing in the morning. He would have had batted those hands away if they hadn't belonged to a babbling baby--to their babbling baby.

Brows almost connecting in disapproval, Neil shifted and lifted himself up into a half-sitting, half-lying position against the headboard. He exhaled thickly. Arthur was gazing up at him, flaunting his sunny face, eyes as big as saucers, lone tooth peeking from his open mouth. He was chuckling endearingly. Should Neil consider that a greeting or Arthur's expression of having succeeded in having fun, Neil didn't know.

"Couldn't you have just woken me up yourself?" said Neil at Andrew who was sitting behind Arthur on the sheets.

"Our baby beat me at it," the goalkeeper said as he gestured lazily toward their boy.

Neil wet his bottom lip and kept it tucked inward. A vague shadow still hung over the vision of his right eye. The internal twitch was still there. Even with a hand still so small, Arthur could definitely hit his goal like a striker when excited. Neil only wished he wasn't the goal this morning, and that Andrew--being a goddamn brilliant goalkeeper he was--had adequate concern to thwart Arthur's mighty palms and fingers away from his face. Nevertheless, as equally abrupt as Neil's annoyance had shot up over being startled awake out of nothing, his mood had easily steadied as he watched a jolly Arthur attempting a mutual communication with him. The boy was spraying drool about an indecipherable topic. Was he telling him about last night? Was telling Neil that his pain was gone now? Or was he inviting him to play?

Instead of calling Andrew out again on letting Arthur questionably beat him at crawling toward his face, Neil remarked on another segment of Andrew's sentence. It'd been echoing inside his ears. "I like the way you say it," the striker said.

Andrew quirked an eyebrow.

"'Our baby'," Neil quoted back, faintly quirking an eyebrow back at him.

Andrew shrugged blandly. "He's a baby, and he's yours and mine."

After a moment, Neil leaned forward, then picked up Arthur to land him on his lap. He gave Andrew a playful smile. "Can I expect you to chat about our naughty little baby to other Foxes from now on?"

"What's the sense of opening one's mouth when there's a willing chatterbox around?"

"Well, he's quite nice to have around."

Stolidly, Andrew left the bed, began sorting and choosing clothes in their wide closet. Having placed a mound of dark-colored shirts, shorts, and pants on the desk, he then went on to shuffle through Arthur's mountain of stuff in the boy's separate chest beside the athletes' desk. The chest had been another gift, one of undoubtedly many, from Nicky and Erik. Arthur continued to burble and prattle on to Neil the entire time Andrew was occupied with examining the boy's multi-colored socks with printed cartoon characters and little matching outfits. If clothes-shopping were left to him and Neil, Arthur's wardrobe would be a plethora of plains. Neil visualized himself and Andrew shopping for Arthur; he pictured Nicky and Erik shopping together for their boy the whole summer... Regarding these things, they should thank the universe for the other Foxes, indeed.

Neil rocked Arthur gently on his thigh, making him clap and squeal at being swayed. The striker had long resigned to never get much of Arthur's talk and excitement in his current age. He kept his hands around the boy's middle while watching Andrew move about in their room with his back on him. Andrew removed the clothes he brought back home from his luggage and tossed them into the clothes hamper in the bathroom. He then put in and arranged the ones he'd chosen one-by-one, rolling the tops and folding the bottoms mechanically. Around him, Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins had began a duet of commentaries consisted of long "mews" and "meows."

Mid-morning in their bedroom. This mutual silence of theirs was simple comfort; the noises blending in were just as comforting. 

After a while of filling his luggage, the goalkeeper looked at them pointedly. "Start prepping your ears for a clear nonstop chat in the coming years. Our baby is showing the same symptoms as Nicky."

Neil snorted softly. "As if we haven't been prepped already." Hadn't they gotten used to Nicky's antics for years?

Andrew hummed affirmation and took off his tee, revealing his toned upper body as he strode toward the bathroom. For a moment, Neil was instinctually inclined to get up from bed and follow him inside. Stopping by the door for a second, Andrew said casually, "We both met Nicky when he was already a grown-up. With Arthur, we're going to listen hard and respond to anything under the sun for eternity." Andrew started to shower without bothering with the open door. King Fluffkins slunk after him. Sir Fat Cat leaped onto the bed, then jumped further up onto the nightstand, and curled on himself.

Now that Neil thought about it-- Neil didn't actually want to think about what the goalkeeper said yet. He turned Arthur around on his thighs so they'd face each other. One step at a time, he told himself. Being reliable in a conversation as a parent was something he'd like to worry about when Arthur could already speak properly, which meant he and Andrew still got--what?--three to four years before then? Surely, there were books specially made for rookie parents for such purposes, yes?

As Neil's mind inevitably wandered away, Arthur had gone quiet in his lap. Eyes so delicate and blue, his vision was fixed on Neil's face. And then all of a sudden, he reached up with his fat arms stretched out, moving forward with a slight bounce of his bottom. Both his hands abruptly clasped Neil's front, yanking him off his reverie. Large eyes twinkling and wet lips in a comical pout, he let out this near-hum. Neil blinked down at him.

"Mmm," Arthur sounded his m significantly and extensively. "Mmmm."

Sir Fat Cat seemed to have noticed it as well, despite the sounds of Andrew's showering from the bathroom. He meowed once, twice, all perked up, and gazed down at the boy intently. Neil looked back at Arthur who solidly returned the cat's attention from the nightstand.

"Mm-mmmm," he sounded phonetically again, seemingly stuttering and unable to move past the first letter of a syllable. His lips pushed out, protruding like that of a gasping fish. But he was a little boy not even one year old, so his prolonged m's did not come without effort. Two more tries of communicating with Sir Fat Cat the same way ended with a drooly chin and an unplaceable coo--the usual Arthur language Neil knew.

An odd feeling washed over the striker with that, inexplicably tingling the very pit of his stomach and the tips of his toes. Arthur's progress and interactions with him were on his mind as he drove quietly to the airport in his sedan later. He wasn't alone as Katelyn volunteered to come with him. They were planning to drop by a store for more food and drinks on the way back. The goalkeeper didn't accompany Neil in fetching Betsy; Andrew had to personally see Harnett in her office for Arthur's documents; also, Neil was certain Andrew got one more stop after Harnett before he returned to their apartment.

Inside the car, Katelyn played pop music while communicating with her colleagues on her phone. She alternated between singing along the upbeat songs and recounting some stories to Neil about her residency and Aaron's keen interest in research. She didn't seem at all concerned that Neil only answered her with brief, uncommitted phrases scattered here and there.

Once they were parked waiting for Betsy to show up any minute, Katelyn disconnected her music. And then she shifted in the passenger seat to fully face Neil.

"You know," she halted for what felt like five minutes, then she said, "this summer visit to your home is really important for Aaron."

The striker regarded her curiously.

"There's this international research seminar," she said. "In Amsterdam. He's been looking forward to attending it since January 'cause a distinguished neurologist has been invited. Dr. Stein is one of the key speakers, and she's presenting her most recent thesis publication. Aaron was hoping to catch a word with her. Kind of something about his own research interest in the future."

Neil nodded slowly. He tapped a finger against the steering wheel. "But Aaron isn't attending." 

Katelyn gave him a small, meaningful smile.

"He isn't there," the striker said, "because he's here in Colorado instead."

Following a shared silence, Katelyn said, "He's decided to be here. Aaron never said this himself. I doubt he easily would. But he cares about," she stopped, seemingly to find her next words, "this whole situation. Yours and Andrew's family situation."

Neil nodded once more. He tilted his head against the headrest. "Was Aaron greatly surprised?" He gestured vaguely before letting his hand fall on his knee. "About all this."

"Truthfully, Aaron's rather very interested when we found out about Arthur through Nicky's posts. He's called Betsy a few times after the obviously accidental revelation. Right now, Arthur puzzles him so much, I guess. Like, the baby is a grand mystery around his brother."

"So he wants to meet Arthur as soon as possible and figure him out in the process," Neil stated sardonically, with a tiny upward curl on the corner of his lips. To figure out a defenseless, vulnerable, and teething child, Neil withheld. That one conversation in the past which led to his lame punch on Aaron was still pretty intact on his mind. Back then, the revelation was his and Andrew's relationship that Aaron had never seen coming.

"In a way?" Then Katelyn shook her head. "I think, as his only brother, he's just worried. Aaron wants to figure out how Arthur's going to affect Andrew. And, of course, you too. The both of you."

"We're fine," said Neil spontaneously, then added, "so far." Last night's Arthur tantrum wasn't fine. So was his reaction to it.

Katelyn thoughtfully wrapped a warm hand around his forearm. "We can see that. By we, I mean, us Foxes. You're doing so well with a child you've never planned for."

Another stretch of silence, and then Neil switched his focus from Katelyn to the tinted window behind her. Betsy was walking out of the glass doors of the terminal, checking her phone with one hand while pulling a small luggage behind her with the other. She was wearing a loose yellow dress, her hair tied up in a neat bun. Katelyn twisted in the passenger seat to see whom Neil was looking at. Her face lit up and, instantly pumped up, she stepped down the car to beckon Betsy toward them.

Soon, after the greetings and the howdies, Betsy's luggage had been secured in the trunk. Not a minute later, she was comfortably sitting in the middle of the backseat, lightly conversing with Katelyn. Before driving away from the airport, Neil updated Andrew on her arrival. She noticeably lost some weight, though she didn't appear unhealthy. Neil reckoned Betsy was watching her diet strictly these days. It seemed she was still going for semi-vegetarian meals most of the time. "It unavoidably comes with getting older," she had told Andrew and Neil when they last met with her. "You can't simply eat what you fancy all the time anymore without serious drawbacks."

With a shopping list already stored on Katelyn's phone, the grocery stop had been a breeze. Betsy bought additional items, too; most of which were ingredients for a rice meal and fruit salad she'd be making for everyone later; nonetheless, she hadn't missed a certain aisle to put a pack of cocoa and some marshmallows into the cart.

Andrew was still out when they came back to the apartment. Aaron was playing an Exy video game with Nicky in the living room. Erik was busy with a phone call while keeping an eye on Arthur in his stroller. Perched on the bay window, his feet tugged the stroller's wheels to and fro, mildly moving Arthur forward and backward. When Erik saw Betsy come in, he smiled and waved his welcome.

Betsy was also welcomed by the cousins who stopped their game immediately. Although his greeting was not as merry as Nicky's, Aaron did seem interested in seeing Betsy today. Beside Nicky, he made room for her in the sofa as she settled down to speak with everybody. Erik joined the chat when his call had finished. Neil brought out the refreshments and food, having quickly made sandwiches with Katelyn. They didn't talk about Aaron anymore in the kitchen.

Nicky grabbed Arthur from the stroller and presented him to Betsy. The former backliner cleared his throat softly as he stood before her. "Dr. Dobson," he started with a cordial tone, "I'd like you to meet the adorable Arthur Nicholas Josten-Minyard."

"Hello there, little Arthur Nicholas," Betsy replied with a casual and gentle tone. She stood up, reached out her hand, and held Arthur's for a handshake. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

His other fingers now inside his mouth, Arthur cooed sloppily. Nicky laughed. "And I think he's pleased to meet you, too. Arthur Dear, you should address her as Auntie Bee when you become a bit older. Aun-tie Bee. Hear that rhyme right there?" Arthur cooed again, pulled out his fingers, and shaped his lips toward her like that of a fish's.

Betsy chuckled at that. She glanced at Neil and said, "Arthur's got a lovely name. He's lovely, too."

Neil stared at his happy boy. "And he's quite lively."

Betsy tapped Arthur's nose. "He is."

"Wanna sit and chat with Auntie Bee?" Nicky asked the boy. Arthur continued his cooing. Taking that as a yes, Nicky transferred him into Betsy's arms. 

Conversations flowed seamlessly upon Betsy's arrival. Although Aaron and Neil were mostly just listening to the others, they still chimed in from time to time. As had been agreed upon last night, they all stayed at home for dinner today. Dinner prep was an easy team work, and so was eating afterward. Before eight o'clock in the dining room, everyone was already sitting in comfort, digging in Betsy's rice dish and fruit dessert; everyone was munching on something (Arthur got a frozen teether in his mouth) while watching the live Exy game on the barely-used TV there; everyone was present except for Andrew who was still out somewhere.

Their team was two points ahead, which was no reassurance at all on their part. Coach Griffiths had his arms stiffly folded over his chest, his brows close to forming a permanent V between his eyes. The camera zoomed in on Heidi who was walking across the court; she looked over her shoulder, turned slightly, and shot up her middle finger to the other team; those bastards were being totally aggressive tonight. Aaron had been sending recurring looks to Neil from across the table. The latter ignored them, though he felt them bounce upon his temple. They were the kind of looks that appeared unrelated to the ongoing match.

Perhaps there was credible reason for Aaron's attention. The striker's focus to the current game was less than a hundred percent, contrary to his usual concentration when it came to Exy. And apparently, it got something to do with Arthur's moody expression and restless wiggling in his arms. By nightfall, the boy's ready smiles had dwindled. He began avoiding other Foxes' touches and longed for his father's proximity. Arthur had been sticking like a koala to Neil before the game started. The striker sighed internally, mentally preparing himself for another teething outburst this evening. His stomach moiled. For his own good, Neil should probably stock up on antacids from now on.

"I thought Andrew went out to see your lawyer at lunch," Nicky remarked through the lull in the plays.

"Yeah," Neil said.

"Everything all right, Neil?" Erik casually followed up.

"Yeah." Neil adjusted Arthur against his shoulder. "Andrew's just checking some things."

Despite their palpable curiosity, the Foxes around the table didn't inquire on things that Andrew could be checking.

Andrew and Neil's team won 19-17. They were watching the courtside interviews when Andrew came back and walked into the dining room. His eyes stayed at Betsy first before they drifted to Neil and Arthur. By then, the little boy was scratching his head in unmistakeable uneasiness. Andrew's stony face didn't hint on what's kept him busy until this hour. He went to the kitchen quickly and sat down with them at the table with a bottle of honey in his hand. Light bruises colored his knuckles.

There was an empty plate set aside for him beside Neil's. The goalkeeper filled it with a hill of mixed fruits, topping them generously with honey. He also helped himself to a moderate serving of the rice dish Betsy had made. As soon as Andrew was in the chair next to Neil, Arthur twisted his torso toward him. Soft close-mouthed sounds flowed from the boy. One hand in the air, he was making grabby motions at Andrew.

"Arthur has missed you," Betsy remarked fondly.

"I have to say he missed the real Andrew," said Nicky.

Although Andrew didn't touch that motioning hand, he eyed his boy for a long moment. "He always misses me and Neil now."

"Oh, is he being clingy to both of you?" asked Betsy.

Andrew's brows wrinkled for an instant. "If not being willful."

"Come on. That's him being sweet, don't you think?" Nicky commented cheerfully. "Arthur just loves his daddies. Period."

Folding his arms, Aaron leaned back in his chair. "With Neil gone, you were able to leave this noon because I was around."

Eyes on his twin, goalkeeper scooped a spoonful from his fruit mix. 

Nicky chuckled, then said, "The impromptu deception lasted briefly." Katelyn grinned as she rested her head on Aaron's shoulder. "Dunno how Baby Arthur figured it out so soon," Nicky recounted, "but he just eventually stopped play-pulling Aaron's sleeves. And then he began showing this why-do-you-look-so-much-like-my-dad face again to him."

"It's so cute and funny, actually," Erik said.

"Right, right," Katelyn backed up. “I got a clip.”

"So what's it like when he's longing and doesn't get to have you?" Betsy asked amusedly. "Does he cry hard?"

Neil exhaled audibly. "To be accurate, he shrieks like it's the end of the world."

Erik's forearms slid forward on the table. "Because Arthur suddenly gets stressed, eh?" A minute later, he said, "Just wondering, what is his setup when you fly back to your games on Thursday?"

Timely question, Neil inwardly agreed as he stared blankly at Erik who'd been co-looking after Arthur this summer. Andrew and Neil were supposed to discuss the matter before bed. It'd been gnawing at him the whole time he was viewing the recent match with the other Foxes. He was reminded of his current priorities. Exy was carved to the striker's bones and embedded in his soul; even with this dedication, however, he wasn't going to last an entire season without a distraction, more so regarding their boy. With Arthur's welfare planted on his mind therefrom, he knew there'd be off-moments during a game, and Neil--and Andrew, too--couldn't afford any of those misses especially during significant matches.

"You're both in-demand." Picking up the looming dilemma, Aaron asked his brother directly, "Who are you two entrusting him with?"

"Our employees," was Andrew's succinct and flat reply.

"Employees," Aaron returned similarly.

"Yes." With the barefaced implication of Aaron's response hanging in the air, Andrew pointedly flexed his lightly-bruised hand and dully said, "Actually, I gave a performance test to one of them just now."

Silence stretched awkwardly. Neil readjusted their boy in his hold.

Arthur had gotten tired of keeping his arm stretched out. He wiped his cheek against Neil's shoulder, still staring at Andrew. When nobody interrupted the consequent dead air, Betsy said, "I'm sure Arthur will be okay. He's probably too attached right now because of excitement, but he'll soon learn to understand the concept of occasional distance between a parent and a child. Babies can be trained for that."

Nicky bobbed his head in agreement. "Like sometimes letting him sleep in the closest room, right?"

Betsy nodded. "Ways like that. At the end of the day, it's all up to you," she said with an understanding smile to Andrew and Neil. “What works for others doesn’t have to work for you.”

Albeit the early meal, most Foxes hung out in the dining room until ten. Neil excused himself at nine to put their sleepy boy to bed. With Katelyn's advice, he got a couple of drops of pain reliever in his milk. Andrew came to their room to change then went back out and rejoined the others in the next door unit. Neil didn't realize he'd fallen asleep while watching over Arthur until his parted lips tickled. Two fingers were pressed on them as he slowly peeled his eyes open into the faint glow. Andrew withdrew his fingers and stepped around the periphery to lie down on the mattress.

Neil shifted and found Arthur slightly inclined to his side--blissfully webbed in slumber between them. In a handful of hours, they'd all be rising for their family's outdoor powwow.

"How did it go?" the striker rasped, supposing it was already past midnight.

Face up the ceiling, Andrew said in a low voice, "Yang passed."

Neil's lashes fluttered against his cheeks. "What did she say?"

"She thanked me."

Interesting. To thank the ringleader who hired a teenage thug, who in turn hired a dozen other local thugs to beat you right in the corner of your path home on a late Tuesday afternoon.

"You fought her, too."

Andrew raised and observed the back of his hand. "And she also fucking thanked me for that. Said a chance for her to fight the boss in the spirit of camaraderie doesn't come generously."

"When it's over..."

"I told her to apply some makeup this week."

"Okay." The striker could imagine the public impression she'd give away if she was ever carrying Arthur with a visible black eye and cuts on her skin. "Christine will have something to say."

"She texted me about one hour ago. Turns out she was gonna slip by her niece's place after shopping." Andrew rolled to his side toward Neil. "She's meeting us again. At the airport."

"Should we care?"

"About her unnecessary gifts? Yes."

Neil sighed. Notwithstanding his drowsiness, their odd dynamics with the Pembertons was a thing he'd rather not sweat.

"I won't bring much in my luggage, anyway," the striker said.

"Four," the goalkeeper said.

Waiting for an elaboration, a yawn escaped Neil's dry lips.

After several minutes, Andrew said, "We can book four tickets."

Four tickets...

The striker's eyes strayed down Arthur's little, cuddly body. He processed what booking four tickets entailed and felt for his deepest thoughts and reservations in his head. The surface of his mind was even; Neil wasn't sure if it was because of his sleepiness, but the ripples of disturbance seemed far away. In many aspects, Arthur coming with them during the current seasaon was going to be a challenge; yet, presently, he couldn't conceive of any other challenge they'd rather take on.

"Let's get four tickets, then."

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading! <3

  
" _Momo the Cat is no longer alone in House Blue. Because from now on, the white fat kittens May, Mimi, and Mew live there, too. 'Meow, meow, meow,' said the three. 'Meow, meow, meow, meow,' the four all cheered_..."

Moony, blue eyes were glimmering; a lone tooth was protruding. Indeed, during Neil's reading, Arthur was engrossed.

And around the striker and his boy in the bushy gardens were the Foxes, all of them clad in white cotton t-shirts, comfy jeans and shorts, and casual trainers, except for Arthur who was in a jumper and a pair of some cartoon brand sandals. Nicky was quite--maybe just a tiny bit--stunned; Erik was somehow sympathetic, so was the curve of his lips; Katelyn was outrightly grinning; Aaron seemed skeptical, if not weirded-out, judging from the twitch of his eyebrow; Betsy was okay; Popo was asleep; and then there was Andrew who was stone-faced, as always.

The star striker paused and flipped to the next page. His back against the narrow tree trunk, he said dryly, "My, are you all entertained by me yet?" Having to read a children's story in front of the Foxes as a penalty during a post-lunch game of cards wasn't disagreeable, but some of their reactions were.

Lazing down beside Erik, Nicky recovered from that momentary stun and tittered as he rolled over on the checkered sheets covering the patch of ground they were on. "No offense, Neil, but you could use some emotions. _And_ facial expressions."

Neil said, "Nobody during the counsel told us reading requires so much acting skills."

With air quotes, Nicky rolled his eyes. "'Acting' he says. Yeah, right, Neil. The thing is you sound so freaking lifeless and bored to hell," Nicky said as he propped up his elbows then turned to Betsy. "Don't you agree?"

Betsy sipped lemonade from her tumbler then smiled. "Well... you can add expressions for effect. Though, I have to say Arthur doesn't seem to mind your style."

Katelyn giggled. "Art seems to like the meowing. He just blinks wide whenever you go, 'meow, meow.'"

"You're definitely being lenient to him," Nicky whined. " _Andrew_."

With his dark sunglasses on, the goalkeeper ignored his cousin in favor of distantly observing their fellow loungers in the adventure and leisure park of Hidden Groves. Those people were too far apart and dispersed down the bushes to be recognized, though they were still visible and audible enough to be found cheerily picnicking on wooden tables near the lake. The younger ones were dancing and laughing their way to daylight drunkenness.

In the Foxes' spot, however, was a company of mellowness despite the buzzing heat. They were gathered on a grassy patch on the foot of a rocky hill, surrounded by old, towering trees with branches overlapping enough to shade their laid-back bodies. It was hot, but not as sweltering as Monday had been. The tender wind that was present whistled, carrying around fleeting voices and laughter. Such an easy moment in the afternoon now; the Foxes were cooling down after this morning's sweaty rounds in the cycling tracks and obstacle course of the adventure grounds about two kilometers past the picnic area.

The high spot the Foxes were on was lording over the horizon leading down the lake. To the far left, a trek away from where they were roosted, was a massive maze Andrew had already solved by himself hours ago. Arthur was with him when he did, the boy's weight secured to the base of his hip, his small back held in the goalkeeper's strong arm. It was the first thing they did together as soon as they stepped down the sedan--wandering away on their own with implied agenda.

To Neil--as he watched them tread off early in the morning, with their figures bringing a pinch to his chest--it felt like these two boys in his life marched off from the group for their private one-on-one talk. A conversation only they could ever have with each other, likely in clipped words and silence that spoke far too louder than any confession Andrew would ever make about his life.

"Hey, Andrew, why don't you read to Arthur next?" said Nicky, propping himself up on his elbows. Neil noticed his smartphone was just a snatch away as he called his cousin's attention again.

Neil shifted where he was sitting, closed Arthur's picture book with a snap, and sighed, a hint of slight irritation in his voice. "I wasn't that horrible."

"Didn't you say you were," said Nicky, unconvincingly. His smile said it all against Neil's awkwardness. "I'm just saying it's his other daddy's turn. Come on."

Since learning Arthur's full name, Nicholas's bean of boldness toward his cousin seemed to have had sprouted overnight. So far, however, Andrew was noticeably letting him get away with extraneous teasing and unsolicited advices. Neil supposed this ounce of leeway was limited to this holiday. Andrew wouldn't tolerate much next time, especially if it was a casual grilling about his and Neil's intimate time.

Just this morning, during their hour-long journey to Hidden Groves, Nicky--who voluntarily rode with the Exy couple to play with Arthur--had been reading adult blogs on his phone and ended up twaddling in codes about "yoga" positions and "bedroom science experiments."

"Absolutely. This stuff is science and art! It needs intentional thoughts," Nicky defended unneededly. As one would expect, he directed the couple in the front seats a suggested wiggle of his eyebrows and hard-to-miss innuendo. Staying ninety-nine point nine percent silent and changing radio stations were all Neil could do against Nicky's curiosity-cum-enthusiasm (about a certain waterfall and spin cycle... and pretzels?) and nosiness that he and Andrew neither humored. Not long after, Nicky hinted on his personal tastes and gone almost graphic about this ongoing honeymoon of his with Erik. Thank luck Arthur had drifted off by this time, though the boy shouldn't be able to infer a single idea about grown-up intimacy. Nonetheless, there was a part of Neil that worried if Arthur was a baby genius who could possibly process all of Nicky's words just by decoding body language and tones despite being unable to speak yet.

Andrew had a goddamn blank face when he finally spoke, "I don't think you've checked, but just so you know, I have your passport, Nicky." Neil raised a brow to that. Andrew opened the glove compartment of Neil's sedan and held up Nicky's passport.

"Oh shi--! Sugar cubes, Andrew!" Nicky squeaked. He glanced down at Arthur, just in case that yell stirred him in his sleep.

"Don't push it," Andrew said, rounding a curve on the road. "Nobody here's interested."

"I can't believe you! When did you filch my passport?"

"When you weren't looking."

Nicky griped some more, but soon enough was back on track with his stories. At least, the remaining thirty minutes of their drive was heavily dominated by celebrity updates, which were not as appealing as Nicky would often make it out to be. But Andrew and Neil were undeniably public figures themselves. Being informed on the _whos_ and _whats_ of the fame industry might be handy in the future, even though Neil really doubted that much information would be useful to himself.

And then he found himself staring at the goalkeeper as the latter was driving. Probably it was the mention of models and magazines from Nicky that got the striker picturing Andrew as a billboard model. A wee and sheepish smile made its way to his lips. What a fierce, defiant pose would that be from the goalkeeper. In spite of his cold exterior, there was an ever-present intensity in Andrew that Neil liked. It was intensity that grounded him. It was energy that sparked whenever they touched; it was heat that healed.

Of course, being him, Andrew would perceive the thoughtful attention coming from his partner, and he responded by pushing his palm onto Neil's face. "Told you not to sleep with your eyes open."

For a moment, Neil's eyes locked on the other hand around the steering wheel.

"Your fault," he said.

Andrew looked Neil in the eye, narrowing his hazels.

"I know," Neil supplied for him with a vague lilt to his voice. "You hate me."

The goalkeeper darted his eyes back on the road ahead of them.

"So much."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Nicky clucked his tongue. "Please let this good old uncle insist that when Arthur starts chasing somebody, he better be sent to our doorstep for a good long briefing and peptalk. Else he'd never get delightfully, romantically, and sweetly drunk with a date on prom night."

Neil sighed at Nicky's comment in the car. Andrew selectively heard nothing. It felt like he hadn't heard a thing again right now, too, while Nicky was goading him into reading to Arthur. After a minute, he tilted his head toward Nicky, his lips zipped as straight as the handle of his Exy racket. Although his eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, the focus of his hazel gaze could still be felt from inches away.

It was picking stiffness in the wind when Arthur's grabby little hands reached for the picture book on Neil's lap. "Mmmmm," he sounded richly. And then he sneezed, spewing a bit, and yawned extensively.

"Look at that. Isn't it his nap time already?" the goalkeeper said casually as he poked Arthur's drooly chin. "This child had enough reading for today. So Nicky, why don't you buy his Neil some cold drink to ease his throat, seeing as it was your dare he granted?"

" _Great_. What a sport," murmured Nicky to himself in German. "I just can't-- Fine! Fine, no reading aloud for the baby from you around us. And it really has to be me to run off?" Despite his complaint, he got up to his feet anyway, slapping away the little grass ends that stuck to the seat of his jeans. Switching back to English, he hummed and said, "All right, Foxes. Guess we could all use some fresh cold drinks to while away the afternoon."

Erik stood up as well. "Let me come with you, love. I've seen trinkets and canvas goods at the store. Perhaps we could send them to our friends in Prague."

Perked up with another round of shopping, Nicky clapped his hands. "Oh, yeah. Sweet. Let's also get the tarts I was telling you earlier."

After he had asked what beverage each of them preferred, the former backliner walked off hand-in-hand with his husband. Katelyn budged and grabbed Nicky's spot. She lied down comfortably, her head resting atop Aaron's lap. Betsy graciously took Arthur from the ground and cradled him in her arms. At first, she was speaking with him in that baby talk approach Neil couldn't quite learn just yet. He mentally noted to ask Matt more about it. Not long after, their little blond boy was nodding off to sleep. Neil just stayed glued to the trunk with his knees to his chest, watching the slow flutter of Arthur's fair eyelashes as the latter succumbed to drowsiness. Andrew tipped his sunglasses up his head and began munching on the remaining peanut butter cookies. The goodies were in the small basket that Betsy had brought in with Erik's sandwiches this morning.

Katelyn was browsing on her phone when she remarked on a conversation they were having over lunch. "See these slogans Nicky posted on our board?" She showed them a string of digital art with motivational texts on literacy. "I can't wait for Nicky to start his own firm. I mean, he's been thinking about it for almost a year now. He should really push for it once he gets back to Stuttgart."

Betsy nodded. "Erik does say he is ready for it. More flexibility means more creativity and time for his other endeavours, too."

Lunch was a conference reunion of sorts. Nicky initiated a group video call to the Foxes who couldn't make it to Colorado this week. Renee, Abbie, Allison, Dan, Matt, Kevin, and Coach Wymack amazingly all tuned in to answer. Neil guessed they'd been given the heads-up nights before.

Having completed this reunion somehow, the Foxes chimed in support on their own peculiar ways for Nicky's plans, which he'd just shared a couple hours ago. Up until now, the former backliner had a generally smooth path with his career in a PR firm. His skills were very much appreciated in his workplace; he'd been meeting inspiring people from various artistic fields; and he'd been contributing a lot to wonderful projects; however, Nicky wished to reign things on his own, too. Nicky wanted to create something he personally envisioned. Erik was more than supportive of this goal: start an ad agency for causes and products that genuinely mattered, for advocacies they believed in, then give back to the community in more tangible ways.

Neil listened to this melody--to this meaning, this care, this talk, floating with soundless intervals that brushed with breaths of the realest people he'd ever met and kept in his life. This was utterly unfeigned music that he would like to record and play over and over again if he could. Something he could listen to whenever they were on the road with the team or in between trainings. Something he could bring with him whenever the Foxes could not keep in touch. Something that could just ebb and flow in the background while sleeping next to Andrew and Arthur. Something exclusively lyrical.

"Have you ever considered leaving him to Nicky instead?"

_Ah_. The music paused without warning. Neil blinked. His feet pulled out of his clouds, his head snapped toward that cunningly skeptical voice.

And here he thought last night's offhand questioning was the most they could expect from Aaron in this get-together. Whatever Aaron was truly pressing Andrew for, Neil still wasn't so sure. Katelyn squeezed her husband's forearm briefly. Aaron glanced down at her once, before returning his intent gaze on his brother.

"Today, you're capable of completely having a kid. But tomorrow's a different story. Career-wise, it's going to be convenient if he's left under Nicky and Erik's care. They seem unquestionably willing. Conscience-wise, they're also your advantage. You don't know your employees like you know them. You can get the child to stay in Germany during your seasons."

One more time, Andrew snuck his hand in Betsy's basket and chewed another cookie slowly. He regarded his twin with a cool, considering look. Neil sat up straight, scooting away from the trunk. Betsy continued rocking Arthur in her hold, albeit her focus stayed with the twins.

Aaron's brows furrowed. "Have you ever?" he asked again, this time making it clear the question was for Andrew alone.

"Once," Andrew said inexpressively.

"So you did."

"Once," Andrew repeated.

"Before or after the adoption?"

"Before."

"It's easy to assume you took him in because you won't simply turn away a helpless baby that was specifically brought to you, but it's not really that, is it?" said Aaron.

"What does it matter to you what and why I decide?" said Andrew with a tiny, sardonic quirk to his lips.

_Because you are his brother_ , Neil thought as he inwardly exhaled.

The quietude lasted some more, making the striker itch under his skin. He kept on checking that their boy was asleep against Betsy's chest, in spite of knowing that he would never comprehend enough the intricacies going around him even if he was awake. Perhaps it was always to be like this; Neil would worry on what Arthur might learn around him.

"You and Arthur," Aaron dropped, "are not like you and me."

Neil's eyes flicked at him. Katelyn stilled. Betsy's arms stopped moving, instantly searching Andrew's face of any reaction to that. Katelyn sat up and linked shoulders with her husband. "Aaron," she whispered.

"You and Arthur are not _you and me_ ," Aaron stressed.

Andrew's lids fell halfway over his eyes, casting shallow shadows to his cheeks.

"We will never be," he said coldly.

Aaron pursed his lips and tilted his head, his fingers clawing into his palm.

Unsaid sentiments between them over the years, coming out in increments that could slice; there was gradual movement through their waters, but a few rocks cut through the surface.

Neil stared down at their boy. It wasn't like they hadn't thought of every possibility that was available to them. If Andrew was unconsciously mirroring what he could have done for a family like Aaron from the scratch, Neil couldn't be certain. He only knew, they both knew _this_ could be something else--this thing they started and shared with Arthur would gradually be distinct, solely existing for and with them.

"Arthur's got a good enough head in him, which you've likely noticed." Andrew broke the lull and looked Aaron in the eye ambiguously. "Him staying with Nicky might be better, and he probably senses that. But staying away is not his instinctive choice. The feeling's mutual, if you must ask."

Aaron's vision fell on the sleeping boy, his irritation morphing into inexpression that could mirror Andrew's apathy. Then he threw Neil a side long look. "You really let him bite you hard from the get-go."

A minute stretched on in heavy silence until Aaron's phone beeped. "I have to make some calls," he excused as he got up and left Katelyn side for a walk down the lakeshore. Popo was roused by his movement and tailed after the doctor.

Katelyn turned to Andrew with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for words he meant," Andrew said, appearing unruffled. He continued with the peanut butter cookies he'd laid claim on by himself.

Neil ran his fingers through his hair and gave her a tight smile. "Don't worry about it, Kate. This is... normal." Katelyn returned the striker's smile with a deep breath and a chew of her bottom lip.

It didn't take much effort for Aaron's concerns to spread roots on Neil's mind. Their meaning reverberated in him. Four tickets, and two new people. A must-win game and headline entertainment news to last the whole season. This month was bound to be eventful from the very start, and with days to go into the last leg of July, he could not clearly picture what Thursday and Friday would exactly be like, excepting the earful they'd certainly get from Coach Griffiths and Ursula.

When Nicky and Erik returned to their spot with shopping bags in both hands, they immediately picked up on the slight change of atmosphere. Until it was time to go back to Neil and Andrew's neighborhood, the Foxes continued jumping conversations; Andrew and Aaron remained speechless; the prominent wrinkle of Aaron's brows toward his twin spoke a lot, however.

What the Foxes seemed to have wordlessly and unanimously agreed upon was that they'd make the most out of this Wednesday, though. Following a six-to-seven p.m. power nap, they went out for a cozy bistro dinner downtown.

"Your flight's in the morning?" asked Katelyn, fork over her grilled salmon.

"Yeah," Neil said, wiping Arthur's mouth with a napkin. Merrily sitting on Andrew's lap, the boy got his hands greasy with the goalkeeper's duck sauce. "We're out the door by six."

"I see," said Erik.

"Then..." Nicky started, mid-bite his chicken breast.

"The spare key and code's always yours." Neil also looked at Betsy, Katelyn, and Aaron. "Same with the room next door."

"We couldn't thank you enough, Neil," said Erik. "To be honest, these past weeks feel like we've gotten our own holiday house and car and pets in Colorado."

Neil hummed. "We have some in Stuttgart, too."

Nicky laughed. "Yeah, but you don't have muscly, badass looking bodyguards there, do you? Shall we scout some as soon as we get back, love?"

"Brilliant idea. I'll have my contacts sniffing around right away."

Endearingly, Betsy rubbed Arthur's head. "This little prince is going to be with his aunts and uncles for a while more, then."

Andrew rocked his knee, slightly swaying Arthur as the child giggled and swiped again the brown sauce off the plate, staining the front of his banana yellow onesie. One passing guest in the bistro blinked disbelief at the father-and-son, who were seated at the head of the table. Was it breaking parental etiquette to let your happy baby have fun exploring the dishes (and smear his clothes and face in the process)? Apparently, not in Andrew's book. Not much in Neil's and the Foxes' either, unless Allison was in a glam dinner party and there was an imminent danger of tainting an immaculately dazzling dress if she sat her baby down with her.

"By 'a while more' it'd be until we leave for the airport."

Aaron glanced at him. He and Katelyn, as well as Betsy, would be in Colorado until Saturday noon. Nicky and Erik decided to extend their vacay until Saturday night. "You're dropping him to his carers tomorrow?"

Neil rubbed at the moisture on his glass. "Not really," he shrugged.

Nicky flexed his jaw, lolled his head sideways, and squinted.

"All right. Here goes this elusive fashion," he gestured. "During this holiday, the one time that I got this off-sense was when I saw Neil carrying a baby for the first time. The other time was when I asked Arthur's name, back when, you know, he was 'Baby'. And then we have another round here again. May we ask, how are you guys going to go about this? In case, we can lend our assistance to your plans."

Neil pondered over the best and shortest clarification for a minute. Many pairs of eyes were on him and Andrew. He opened his mouth and said, "We plan on--"

"Arthur is flying with us; he is coming to our game tomorrow night; he is accompanying us through the season with our team; we'll be back in Colorado during the break," Andrew overrode the striker without a hitch.

Fuck revelation patterns. They were the couple with the most news packed in their sleeves this year. A moment later, Katelyn nodded understanding once, twice, thrice; so did Erik. Betsy's "Oh" came out the same time as Nicky's quite loud and wide-eyed "Seriously?"

Aaron laughed a laughter Neil hadn't witnessed up close before. Not that it was boisterous; not that it packed less impact, either. It was audible and undisturbing, and long, and it reached his eyes and nose that mirrored Andrew's, though the set of Aaron's jaw afterwards and the faint shake of his head didn't require ten brain cells to decipher his perception. That insight from Andrew's revelation that would get you off balance--unbelievable, refreshing, and unnerving all at once.

The neurologist downed his white wine in a single draft. He studied his plate, as if inwardly having a dialogue with himself. "Whatever soothes your soul, right?" he blurted out before taking a mouthful of his steak.

Andrew combed his fingers through Arthur's short hair. "Do remember that we got your number, Doctor."

"'Course, you damn do," Aaron hissed down his meat.

"Seems like you've got it all planned out," Betsy said, resting a warm hand over Neil's forearm. "That's great. Everything should fall into place in due time."

"Thanks," exhaled Neil.

"Wow," Nicky exclaimed, both palms on his cheeks. "Arthur Nicholas is unequivocally an Exy royalty like our other Fox cubs, mind you. He's going to be a legit baby celebrity faster than the balls soaring in your court."

"Nicky," the striker cut in.

"Let's be real. After that press announcement, and bearing both his daddies' names?"

Neil knew Kevin would not approve of this setup. For a single-minded player like him, Exy was Exy during games and nothing else should dent that focus. But they'd let him whine a day after tomorrow, once everyone got whiff of the Josten-Minyard's on-the-move household.

The striker wished to close this topic in the mean time. "I want to start filling in Arthur's files. Is it possible to print all his pictures tonight?" he asked, to which Nicky responded with gusto. It's not like they hadn't noticed the detour, but Neil appreciated it that they let it slide.

There were late night whispering at home, of Foxes huddled together with the fat cats in the couch while cutting photos and grouping them for design. It was like most of the Foxes were working on a school project, which was specifically Arthur's scrap book. The spare ink cartridges in the study had been used up, and Neil noted on his phone to order a new box one of these days.

Aaron skipped out on the project and invited Betsy for a talk outside the unit. Before midnight, Andrew went out for a smoke, returned after twenty minutes, hopped in for a quick shower, and kept himself in the bedroom with Arthur, who'd been cleaned up by his doting Aunt Katelyn. Neil noticed Andrew had brought a picture book with him when the goalkeeper passed the corridor from the living room.

Good nights were hearty with lasting hugs and well wishes. Nicky was tearful for moments, and Neil's stomach churned and his chest constricted as he watched him sob like a boy in Erik's arms. "Shh, it's all right. We'll see them all again sooner than you know, love. We'll miss them so much, but time flies. We'll be together. All Foxes and Cubs in flesh." Katelyn teared up, as well, as she rubbed Nicky's back.

"We're so, so, so happy to be here with all of you, Neil," she said.

Neil stepped forward, allowing them to give him another hug. Over the years, he'd gotten used to this, to accepting their warmth and their proximity. "Same here."

Most of the Foxes were up at four-thirty the next day. The uncles and aunties who'd start missing Arthur by six o'clock rose up early to spend some more time with the baby. Together with his holiday roommates, Aaron also entered Neil and Andrew's pad long before five. Wordlessly, he got himself a cup of hot milk tea, a tall pot of which Nicky had set for everyone first thing upon getting out of bed. For more than hour, Aaron only observed them pop in and out of the living room until it was time for Erik to drive the Josten-Minyard bunch to the airport. Neil doubted Aaron had anything else to say to his twin. His presence alone, however, conveyed a page's worth in spite of their recent exchanges.

Sleepyhead Arthur got a record of countless hugs and caresses and kisses and selfies he'd ever get in an hour from his extended family. The Exy couple watched their boy be doted around. There were baby talks and sweet goodbyes and warm promises.

Memories were captured. One insistent prompt from Katelyn even had Aaron relenting to a series of directed pictures with Arthur. They sat down together--with the boy on his lap, facing up to him--and let Katelyn click away on her camera. The initial shot was worthy of a living room frame: a broody-looking uncle and a serious-looking baby, both their eyes intent up on the camera. It was quite uncanny how similar they looked.

Following that were images of Arthur's momentary confusion, the wrinkle of his forehead and the pout of his protruding lower lip, and then Aaron's dispassionate stares at him. Unsurprisingly, an about-to-break-into-a-thorough-tantrum Arthur in Unce Aaron's arms was snapped and stored in the Foxes' gadget (and mental) memories. Not that Arthur wasn't warming up enough to the neurologist, it was more like Andrew and Neil had escaped his sight during the photo session. This behavior got Neil furtherly contemplating on how Arthur would be like during their game later this evening. Was it feasible to make the boy sleep until they were up for parenting duty after the match?

At seven-twenty a.m., the striker was seriously wondering if he should buy some antacids while waiting in a slightly secluded corner at the business lounge of the airport. His sleep and the hour upon waking up had seemed like a daze. Erik dropped them to the airport, and here they were, the three of them in dark colored hoodies and cotton pants with a portable baby seat by their feet. Even these idle minutes were a languid float in invisible clouds. The pit of Neil's stomach stung; an indescribable weight swelled in his chest. He was spacing out, his eyes looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows, seeing but not seeing the cloudless sky outside, only to be constantly jerked out his reverie whenever Arthur made funny, little noises under his chin. Their boy was stroking his jaw fondly.

"Yeah, Arthur. I shaved well this morning," Neil mumbled, though he hardly remembered doing the deed. "Your Andrew, too, I think."

They had an approved car seat, a ticket for Arthur, a medical clearance, drops for teething, and a large baby bag in place of a carry-on that Andrew hung over his shoulder when they walked.

Andrew's phone had been clamped to his ear for most of the morning on the way to the airport up to this second. In his most recent call alone, he'd replied "no" of varying tones five times to whoever from the team was on the other line. It was either Henry fruitlessly talking him into a court-side interview tonight or Coach Griffiths demanding a detailed account of their holiday training, and all answers happened to be simply "no." Neil did run yesterday at the park, though.

"You did give back Nicky's passport?" asked Neil. He and Andrew sat next to each other, facing a limited expanse of the lounge from their corner.

The goalkeeper leaned down to rub a trace of dried saliva on Arthur's right cheek. The ungentle motion of his thumb had the boy wincing, but Andrew kept the tip of his finger there a minute afterward, and when he retracted, Arthur was quickly reaching out for it. "Slipped it in his satchel last night," said the goalkeeper.

"When he wasn't looking," said Neil.

"We might not need to ask him in a long time."

"Let's hope."

Nicky's passport was an identification copy used for Arthur's additional papers that Harnett was working on. He was to be Arthur's legal guardian if any situation called for it. Perhaps, if Arthur was ever to vacation in Germany? Or there came a temporary moment when the couple couln't be there to protect and watch over him by themselves.

"Nicky would be too busy," said Andrew. "And we'd also be too busy in the coming days. Might as well be done with all the processes. Have you decided on the number?"

Neil nodded. He said, "Let's start with a million."

Andrew studied Arthur. Arthur studied Andrew.

The goalkeeper seemed to mull it over. Neil did have more than a million, notwithstanding the Moriyama's regular commission from his Exy contracts and endorsements.

"Each," Andrew said. "Let's make it two."

"Okay," Neil said. "If you want, I guess. You already pay Yang."

"And you'll pay the other. You've talked to Kevin, I've talked to Pemberton."

Neil snorted softly. "I talk to Kevin and Althea."

"Cool," Andrew deadpanned.

"We don't usually spend heavily on anything else material, anyway."

Therefrom, they'd have an essential and healthy reason to move money around aside from their advocacies. They'd talked about setting a trust fund for Arthur a number of times since the decision to adopt the boy had been settled. Neil wondered if it could be done immediately, and Andrew said Harnett's firm was flexible. Since Arthur, the two of them had found new reasons to discuss mutual decisions. The two of them found new things to share together.

Andrew's phone rang again. In the lounge, a soft electronic song was playing on the background. Neil recognized the music from Nicky's playlist during their drive to Hidden Groves. At the end of the track, Yang appeared beyond the corner adorned by unrecognizable plants. Right behind her was Christine.

The young bodyguard was dressed in a long sleeve, flowy blouse that had a Chinese collar, leather pants, and coral boots. A sling bag along her hip matched her pants. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, her face clear of any apparent bruise. Her make up hid her cuts and shiner well. The most remarkable feature about her was her bright, toothy smile, and the fluid wave of her hand upon seeing them. Maybe she was the kind of person to never hold grudges toward surprise attacks staged by an employer.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Neil returned the greeting. Andrew nodded her way during the latest call. "No," he said impassively to the mouthpiece again.

"What a busy gentleman," cheekily remarked Christine as she perched herself before them at their table. She crossed her right leg over the other, making her short chiffon dress to ride high on her thighs. A matte gray and rectangular case remained clutched in her left hand. "We meet again, Arthur dear. How's your morning? Are you excited to ride a plane?"

With his hands still crumpling the front of Neil's hoodie, Arthur stared at her with his big eyes.

"You're not here for penalty fees," said Neil.

"I wish I could charge a fat check in behalf of Yang. Lucky you two, she won't do that to your peace-loving husband here."

"Well, there's a point to the test."

"We know, we know." Christine rolled her eyes. "Pemberton knows. It's a drill and all that jazz in case it ever happens in real life."

"Pissed off now?"

Christine scrunched up her nose. "You lot better buy more tickets this year."

It was Neil's turn to roll his eyes. "Are we also to sell another roll for you?"

"Hmm, not a bad idea there. I mean, there's a busload of you in your team, right?" Christine observed them quietly for a minute. "You don't look that well, Neil. Long night, eh?" she asked, pointedly glancing at Andrew.

Neil kept his mouth shut. Yang smiled kindly, flicking her attention at the untouched croissant and coffee before the striker. "Shall I get you anything? The pharmacy is just two floors down," she offered.

"I'd go," Andrew answered as he stood up. He stared blankly at Neil for seconds before he casually strode out the their view, with his phone in his hand, his other hand tucked in his pocket.

"Charming," said Christine. "You must feel loved."

Neil adjusted Arthur on his lap. "Did you come to tease us?"

"Exactly," Christine said. "And... this." The matte case was slid across the table. It could contain a piece of jewelry, or just about anything if it came from Pemberton's clan. A slim fit gun? A pocket carbon fiber knife? No need to wonder on a snuck weapon in the airport since she was Pemberton's wife. They had trusted "friends" and "friends of friends." In the first place, she could even get breakfast here whenever she wanted with her airline membership.

"Care to tell how dangerous that is?" Neil asked.

"See for yourself," Christine challenged.

The matte case waited under Neil's and Baby Arthur's eyes.

"Uhm--" Yang sat up with a polite smile. "Excuse me, Neil. I'm off to the washroom for a bit."

It was indeed an excuse. "Sure. Right." He paused, realizing the young girl was letting him know since he was a perceived employer, even though he wasn't the one shedding for her pay. He nodded, seemingly to himself. "Whenever you have to."

Yang sent her aunt a communicative glance, followed by a perfunctory check of her black button eyes spanning the inside of the lounge in less than a flying second. Neil caught this minute movement, along the casual turn of her body out of her chair and smooth strides toward the path for the entrance--a seemingly unobtrusive scope of her vision, looking, sniffing, sensing. Then Neil thought, indeed a wolf could be awake even though her eyes were closed. He knew this too well. He hoped Arthur would never know to the extent of his father's experience.

"She could've just remained seated here, and I wouldn't mind," said Christine, leaning back. "But she thinks you'd mind, so."

"Maybe, there's a reason she left us alone. Maybe, if this," Neil gestured to the case, "is disturbingly confidential. Andrew's not here yet, too."

For a short instant, Pemberton's wife tapped her lacquered nails on the tabletop in an uneven rhythm. "Why? Do you wanna wait for him?"

"Should I?" Neil said, his focus automatically swinging toward the glass walls far behind Christine. Barely a few travelers milled about. A minimal wave of strangers passing one another. Andrew was not floating with them.

"Nah. No worries, Neil. Just recount to him what I've to say."

The striker studied Christine's face, which eventully lost the petty humor she'd been sporting as soon as she parked her ass in front of them. Her eyes were trained on the case, her mouth stretching into a curve of reminiscence.

"Ever been curious as to why my husband has taken a liking to Andrew? Why you and Andrew are inclusive to our circle?" she asked.

Neil didn't think he had to respond to those. Pemberton's wife paused, but something in her expression conveyed to Neil that she wasn't expecting an answer just yet. As if consumed by a rush of thoughts in her head, she kept hushed for a long moment until Arthur's drooly gibberish against Neil's shoulder prompted her eyes to move. Christine continued with careful words. "Pemberton is a funny man to people he considers deserving of his funny side."

"I have never thought he's funny."

"Neil," Christine drawled good-naturedly. "Okay, I give you that. His fun side is odd and dark at most times. But you're aware of what I'm on about."

"Hm. We're the exception. You work that way for us, too. There's common ground."

She bobbed her head lightly. "Creatures of the same feather or hide, yeah? That's how it is for us on so many levels. However, there could be more to it, too. For Glen, that is."

With Arthur sitting on his thighs, the striker reached out for the case and unclosed it. Inside was a vintage looking wristwatch. It was bearing a cracked crystal, likely had been crashed against a hard object. A rock? Metal? The crack extended around the lower curve, its lines akin to thin roots. The golden case that held the main piece was scratched. Its brown leather bracelet had inky dots. The wristwatch's numbers were in Roman numerals, and the hands were unmoving.

"One night at home--last autumn if you must know--Glen was reliving his younger years in the force. He's had one too many glasses of his favorite cognac." Christine giggled for a single breath, exhaled, then pouted her lips. "I found him in his study, rummaging the antique chest by the bookshelves. I sat down with him, and on went these old stories of his training and their tours around the East. And then past midnight, he began talking about an old ally who once saved his life." There was short pause, and then she leaned forward, elbows crossed on the table. "Says this guy was an old friend he'd never seen nor heard of and from. There was no contact for, what, three decades or so."

Having caught the wristwatch with his twinkly eyes, Arthur began turning in Neil's lap. He was bouncing forward to reach for it, but Neil held him back in time with his arms around the boy's belly. Arthur whined deep in his throat, trying to wiggle out of his father's hold.

Christine grinned at the naughty boy. "See, Andrew sometimes reminds Glen of that old friend."

Neil let that sink in for a minute. "Reminds him in what way precisely?"

Pemberton's wife shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe it's the vibe? Looks? Height? Dunno really. Glen was too sloppy and drunk to elaborate. He chats foolishly whenever he's under that potion called cognac."

"This watch, it belongs to that friend."

"Or it belonged to him? With our resources, even we cannot tell."

Neil held Arthur under his little arms and turned him away from the case's view. "You're giving this to Andrew."

"Yeah, or to the both of you. Whoever hides it away in his drawer, we don't care much. I'm a mere messenger today. Glen said he better clean up his study for a modern collection, so here, we are handing this down to your family."

"Couldn't you give it to us when it's working?"

"We've got full schedules. Just bring it to a repair shop if either you boys wanna wear it."

The striker's eyes gravitated to the walking figure through the entrance. A white plastic bag was swinging from his hold. Andrew sat down beside Neil and as he fished out a bottle of antacids, he commented, "Do we look like we collect broken antiques?"

"You can have one, just a single one for once in your lives. Take it, all right? Glen's best-of-luck gift to your rollercoaster fatherhood. Just listen to Neil later for the backstory."

Andrew stuffed the plastic in his luggage. "Anything else?"

"Best wishes," she said dryly, and then she perked up. "Oh, and by the way, Yang is probably sweeping the terminal for possible paparazzi or annoying bugs you may or may not encounter as we speak."

"Spotted her five paces away outside the lounge on her phone."

"Hardworking, isn't she?" Christine winked. She vacated her chair with grace and looked over her shoulder, distantly finding Yang hovering by the bar. "Cross-checks done. Well, just don't treat her like a stranger for too long, eh? She's a samurai deep in her heart."

"We'll see," said Andrew.

"See you on our break," said Neil.

Christine grinned. "If you make it to the Championships, we'll catch you live."

Andrew's eyebrow twitched. "You mean bet live on our victory."

"Of course," she said as though scandalized by the comment, and then she waved goodbye. "For the comradeship."

Not long after, Christine's shadow had left. Andrew closed the matte case, then hid it and what else he'd bought from the pharmacy in a side pocket of Arthur's black baby bag. He didn't ask about the watch. Neil thought he'd tell the little story to Andrew after the game.

Boarding the plane was generally uneventful afterward. So was the flight. Arthur had been miraculously meek on his very first plane travel with them. Most that he did in front of his fathers in his flight crib was furrow his fair brows and slide the colored beads of his handy toy abacus--if he wasn't drooling around the orange Exy ball that he loved so much. And perhaps, having been influenced by Nicky's documentary tendencies, Neil decided to snap a few pictures of Arthur in the plane while doing all these. On the other hand, Andrew whiled away the trip with one of the books provided to them during the counsel.

Neither athlete spoke much in their seats. Yang was on the seat in front of the couple's, occupying the one right before Andrew's, the other seat on her side vacant. When Neil chanced a look, he found she spent the journey with her left hand dancing over her sketchpad. And he knew Yang was aware of his curiosity. Her preoccupation seemed genuine enough at a glance. Perhaps she'd be subtly alert whenever a steward passed by or a business passenger rang for attention.

Under usual circumstances, Neil and Andrew would have been chauffeured to the team's residence through the airline's business service; Coach Griffiths wasn't tolerating the smallest tendency of detour for this particular flight of theirs, though. He'd sent one of the team's cars to get the couple back to their base in Atlanta within half an hour.

Neil wasn't put out by the waiting presence of the hulky Randall, their regular bus driver in his mid-thirties, who held perenially-sharp eyes to whomever he set his vision at. Whichever vehicle they rode in, the point was to return to the team as soon as possible. Neil's eyes had been roaming the premises and V.I.P. car park in a paranoid fashion since they'd arrived in Georgia. Although Yang was by their side, the striker couldn't help be on the lookout for stubbornly sneaky reporters and nosy strangers that might drop their way.

Rubbing the back of his thick neck, Randall grimaced as soon as their bunch approached the big black van. His hands were pushed down in both the pockets of his suit pants. He had a penchant for suits, but kept the jacket open and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

"Nobody ain't told me you got company," he said gruffly.

"Nobody said you'd drive us today," said Neil.

There was a lull after that, and then Randall pointed a finger at Yang and Arthur. The latter was now strapped to Neil's torso on a baby harness to prevent him from wiggling off Neil's body.

"These two are..." Randall trailed off, then said, "with you?"

Andrew stood next to the towering man, leaned his weight against the body of the van, and unearthed a chocolate bar from his hood's zipped pocket.

"Mind if I get breakfirst first?" he said, not really asking for an approval as he opened the wrapper and dipped for a bite.

Randall shot him an aggravated look. "We're on a hurry, Minyard."

"You are. We're not that much."

And the goalkeeper did take his time as they all stood there for ten minutes. Randall eventually rolled his eyes, opened the door to the driver seat, and slipped in followed by a loud slam of the door.

Yang simply observed the athletes' interaction with the driver, but kept any thoughts about the man to herself. She was probably done sizing Randall up when Andrew had finished his bar.

"They haven't been informed yet," she said, cocking her head toward Randall. "Your team. Won't that be a problem?"

Andrew balled the plastic wrapper of his chocolate in his hand and zipped it back to the side of his hoodie. "The team never runs out," he said before he knocked at the van's window and signaled that he'd be loading in their luggages.

Once all their things were secured, they all boarded the van. Yang purposely opened the door to the passenger seat, introduced herself courteously, and offered the staff of her employers' team her hand, which was ignored in favor of a grunt. Randall barely waited for the door at the back to be slid close when he hit the pedal hard and drove off as if he was running late for a game.

"Which hotel are we dropping them?" he barked.

"No hotels, Ran," said Neil, checking the locks on Arthur's baby seat. "They're with us. In the pad."

"What? No," Randall hissed, gray eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. "Fucking genius shits, you fucking shorties, Coach will not like this. I was instructed to fetch you two alone."

Andrew shrugged. "Our rooms, our business."

"Fucking rebels is what you two fucks are. A snotty baby and a teenaged outsider?" Yang wasn't a teenager last time Neil checked, but she did pass one on appearance. She could probably work that to her professional advantage on many occasions.

"Your decent English is just great, isn't it, Randall?" Andrew said as he reclined in his seat.

"Fuck my English, Minyard!"

"Yeah, you fuck it."

"You--"

"Ran, we'll deal with this, okay?" Neil huffed and scowled. "Could you please just drive us quietly?"

Not relenting disapproval, Randall mouthed a toothy " _Fuckers_ " at the rear view mirror. The drive did become relatively quiet after that. Baby noises were abound, though. And came a point when Arthur was evidently itching to get out his harness already. He was scratching at his tummy with a strong pout and was stretching his body against the baby seat. To keep him distracted--because Neil was sure Randall would throw a string of more expletives if the boy cried for the next twenty minutes in the van--the striker powered on Andrew's tablet and made Arthur watch a cartoon video. It accompanied that story book he was reading him yesterday at the park. When he looked Randall through the rear view mirror... yeah, he wasn't least bit pleased with hearing all that meowing sound effects and all the giddy tunes of a children's song.

The team's residence was in essence a five-story modern apartment, mostly designed with glass and concrete, complete with facilities for training. It was housing the entire roster of players during game season and every support staff and employees involved. Given that, vacant rooms were still kept clean for possible visitors from the management and the national committee. There were two Exy courts in the pad: the underground court was for the regular training sessions; the rooftop court was used twice a month for plays as intense as the real event.

Built across a large park and about ten minutes away from a private medical center, it was as far away from diversions as their area could allow. Most of Neil and Andrew's team mates dubbed it "home away from home", and for Arthur who was looking to spend his infanthood here with his fathers, it might as well be.

Booking those four tickets had been one of their options, something they'd been putting out there on nightly brainstorming while Arthur was staying in Gracewood, but making it real from this day on was tying Neil's stomach in inescapable knots. There were no heads-up to everyone concerned, that was for certain. Calls were made late, and they outrightly bewildered those who answered. Some calls hadn't been made, and that choice would take aback and jolt. Neil himself couldn't foresee how this new lifestyle would work out, but Andrew didn't voice out any doubt so far, and that was definitely keeping the striker from holding his tummy and bending forward.

Before they got out of the van, Randall was still mumbling about them being talked off for sure when Coach Griffiths found this out. Luckily Coach Griffiths wasn't there to greet them in the second lobby at the back; Ursula was there, however... she and another person that Neil had only seen in a neat passport-sized picture until today. Taller than Neil by three inches, honey-brown skin and copper hair, freckled nose and of curvy built, this person wasn't to be taken lightly if she was recommended by Kevin Day.

"How Kevin Day managed to reach one of my numbers is beyond me, but him being Kevin Day must be the answer in itself," icily said Ursula by way of greeting. Ursula had her silver-rimmed glasses on, her caramel brown hair matching the brown casual suit she was wearing. The glint in her eyes was hotter than the sun outside when she saw them stride past the backdoors. She particularly casted a hard look at Yang and the hand that held Arthur's baby seat.

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "So you've met Titus already. Saves us the introduction."

"Yes," she said, resounding the s a bit more than necessary. "I received a call at seven o'clock from Day, and then this cute lady over here arrived five minutes later at our pad."

Ah, the tension in the air followed, a dead air. Nobody else was around the lower floors during this hour. Coach Griffiths and their team mates should be at the lounge now, discussing game plays this evening or watching their opponents' play-by-plays.

Titus was neither smiling nor frowning either. In fact, she appeared quite dulled-out by the exchange. She hadn't even offered a proper greeting yet, though Neil wasn't expecting nor demanding any from her. The focus of her round eyes were hopping on corners and random objects as they all stood there. The striker wondered if she even got to sit down since getting allowed to come in earlier.

Neil said, "Our contract doesn't forbid us to bring a kid."

As if wishing to assert his own right, Arthur made a loud sound, and then indulged himself in his extensive m's. He was bouncing on his bum again, which made him feel heavier.

Ursula took a minute to answer. She crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her fingers against her opposite shoulder.

"Your contract forbids distractions," she pointedly glanced at Arthur.

The hand holding the handle of the baby seat tightened around it. "He is not a distraction," Neil said before he could even think that through."

"Is he not?" Ursula replied, narrowing her eyes at Neil's face.

"He is not," Neil punctuated each word.

A couple rounds of a stubborn staring match between them, and Ursula let out a long, deep breath as she closed his eyes, bit her lip, and looked up at the spotless ceiling. "Heavens help me with you two," she muttered, nearly grating her teeth with her next words. "I have a conference to initiate. Don't you ever think we are done with this discussion."

Her heels twisted away from the lobby, so did her sharp stares. Titus watched her retreating back, then turned to Neil and Andrew. "Where are we sleeping here? Do we have bedrooms and bathrooms to ourselves?"

Kevin's recommendation and Althea's third cousin, this was Titus and Neil couldn't help shooting back cheekily, "Nice meeting you in person, Titus. Yeah, there's a spare room across ours. We'll arrange for you to have that." Neil looked at Yang. "And share with each other."

"Share?" Titus repeated before she swiped her tongue on the inside of her cheek.

Neil nodded. Titus tipped her head at Yang. The latter didn't look like she minded the other girl's attitude. Neil said, "Yes. This is Yang Lee, by the way. She's Arthur's bodyguard. Yang, this is Titus Dawkins. Arthur's tutor."

"I will share a room with the baby's bodyguard," Titus said. Andrew eyed her intently.

"Yes," said Neil, eyeing Andrew.

"O-kay," Titus said, eyeing both athletes. "Oh God, but-- Okay."

Neil didn't like the sound of that "okay."

"Sheesh, can we go upstairs then? Our bags need to be unpacked."

Neil didn't respond to her anymore. He walked past her, holding Arthur's seat with his right hand and pulling the luggage with his left. Andrew took to carrying their boy's baby bag and their other luggage. Yang and Titus followed after them, notably not exchanging words with each other just yet.

The couple hadn't arranged for Titus and Yang to use the room across their own yet--heck, there was still no express permission for those two to be staying here in the first place--but Neil already found a way to unlock the door. The rooms in their floor had two partitions, two beds, all en suite. Once the girls were let in, he and Andrew entered their own room and put aside their things. Right away, Arthur was removed from the baby seat and boy did the child squeal delight in being freed from those belts. Neil attempted to put pacifier on him, but the boy spat it back happily. He was busy spraying drool by pronouncing those m's.

"I get it," Neil told him. "Your favorite letter is m. Later, we'll let you speak with Sir Fat Cat and King Fluffkins on a video call. You can all enjoy the meowing together."

At least, their boy was in a considerably good mood.

"Let's get this over with," said Andrew.

Feeling tired already, Neil exhaled. He straightened up as he perched Arthur against his hip, barely conscious that he'd been keeping the boy very close to his person since leaving their apartment in Colorado. "I appreciate the antacids. I might need some before the match."

"Coach might need them, too."

Andrew approached the striker, and as smooth as his motion, he planted a kiss on Neil's lips. Their mouths parted from each other for a second, and then Neil was leaning in for more. Arthur was drizzling saliva all over his shoulder, but the striker couldn't care less; not when Andrew's kiss was calming his nerves. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, Neil's gaze was still steady on him.

"I have plans for us later," whispered Andrew against his lips.

Neil snorted softly and smiled. "Can't wait, then."

There was a lot to talk about, and Neil felt he was aware of them, but after that kiss, he couldn't quite bother with the specifics. There were priorities, and they knew them.

"Let's go."

As expected, the whole team was briefing up in the lounge. Andrew got in first, never bothering with a knock. Coach Griffiths was in the middle of the room, making his point by directing fingers toward the TV screen in front of his players. He was in amid his speech when Andrew barged in unannounced. "Oh, look who's finally he--" Neil followed right behind him, and as though a remote control hit the pause button on their coach, he froze. The couple grabbed their usual places, which were already reserved for them in one of the sofas around the low table.

After a few unblinking moments, after coming into terms with reality, Coach Griffiths started. "No," he shook his head left and right, putting his hands on his hips. "No," he said again, coinciding with "Wow" and "For real?" and "Man, is that him?" and "Cute kid!" from his athletes. "Nope," Coach Griffiths blurted out, drowning their volume, as he paced about, darting a hard finger toward Neil's direction. "This is not real. That drooly boy is a hallucination in this room."

"I thought you don't want leave of absence from us anymore," Andrew said nonchalantly, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. "This is our solution."

"This is far from being a solution, Minyard!" he roared, going scarlet in the face. "Tell me he's just visiting and his nanny will take him home any minute now."

"Nanny's not hired," Andrew replied coolly. "We have security and a tutor."

"Tutor this early?" Burton asked in disbelief behind them.

Coach Griffiths glared at the guy but kept on snapping at the couple like a highstrung bear. "I don't care even if he has a scientist or a maths major--" Sato pointed at Neil to which the headcoached rolled his eyes, "or a sports trainer or who-frickin'-ever at his disposal! The boy's not supposed to be here!" Arthur's eyes were fixed at the old man since the instant he'd raised his voice. The child's fair brows were drawn down and his lower lip was jutting out.

"Coach," Andrew interrupted as though bored with all the commotion. He gestured toward the boy's face. "You got your reply right there. Believe me, our kid can fry your eardrums if you don't let this pass now. Can we talk about the game already so we can run some circuits as soon as possible?"

" _Don't you think this is something we can just let pass!_ " Coach Griffiths snarled. " _You, Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten, are supposed to be concentratin' on your games! What got into your silly heads that you brought this kid along, huh? Are you gonna take a break from scrimmages to change his diapers? Of all things, why did you have to_ \--"

"MA!" Arthur squeaked at the ranting man, which effectively shut him up. Neil suddenly became aware of the acidity brewing in his stomach.

Burton was snickering, and the others were laughing at the boy's reaction. To others, his frown and the loudness of his squeak was funny and adorable at the same time. Coach Griffith's face distorted in perplexion.

"Mmm--MA!" Arthur spat back sloppily, then he buried his head at the nook of Neil's neck. The boy rubbed his wet cheek and chin against Neil's skin, his little fingers clamping the fabric of Neil's hood. "Ma, ma, ma... Mmmm... Ugu... Ngh..." Goodness did Neil know this prelude. Any second now, Arthur was about to turn into a sobbing mess. Not right now. Not when they hadn't lasted an hour upon coming back to their team.

Burton stared at Neil with large eyes. "Did he call you 'Ma' just now?" he asked in a meaningful tone.

"No," was Neil's curt reply. His fingertips were oddly, suddenly feeling cold while Arthur was still doing his extended, moody m's at his neck. Internally, the striker was chanting for their boy to hold back the cries. "He didn't."

"Oh my God! Hoho! He's calling you Mummy, ain't he?" Burton exclaimed, with an annoying twinkle in his eyes. "He thinks you're a 'ma'?" Their team mate cracked an irksome, booming laughter, the others joining in. Should this be a different set of oddballs, Neil would be offended; nevertheless, he didn't like the way they were laughing when their sensitive boy was about to cry his lungs out in vengeance.

Neil's forehead creased, feeling heat rise up to the surface of his cheeks at the cheers. "I said he doesn't," he spat and showed Burton the dirty finger. Andrew shot them glares, but their recovery from their amusement was too late.

Because soon afterward Arthur burst into a sob that got worse by everybody's needless comments on how adorable he was when crying. Coach Griffiths's eardrum did kind of get fried by the high-pitched cries and inconsolable shrieks. The rest of the meeting was dominated by Baby Arthur's mighty voice; Coach Griffiths developed a headache and had to down a Tylenol.

And he couldn't say Andrew didn't tell him so. Rubbing it in, Andrew did say, "I told you so."

 


End file.
